University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 
PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


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THE  COMPLETE   POEMS 

OF 

PAUL    LAURENCE     DUNBAR 


WITH  THE  INTRODUCTION  TO 
"LYRICS   OF   LOWLY   LIFE" 

BY 

W.  D.  HQWELLS 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

19*3 


Copyright  1895,   1896,   1897,   1898,    1901,   1902,   1903,    1904,   1905 
BY  THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Copyright  1897,  1898,  1901,  1902,  1903,  1904.  1905 
By  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  Co. 

Copyright  1898 
BY  THE  OUTLOOK  Co. 

Copyright  1898 
BY  J.  B.  WALKER 

Copyright  1903 
BY  W.  H.  GANNETT 

COPYRIGHT   1896,   1899,   1903,   1905,   '9*3 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published,  October,  1913 


DEDICATIONS 

LYRICS  OF  LOWLY  LIFE 
TO 

MY  MOTHER 

•     • 

LYRICS  OF  THE  HEARTHSIDE 
TO 

ALICE 

LYRICS  OF  LOVE  AND  LAUGHTER 
TO 

MISS  CATHERINE  IMPEY 

LYRICS  OF  SUNSHINE  AND  SHADOW 
TO 

MRS.  FRANK  CONOVER 

WITH  THANKS  FOR  HER  LONG  BELIEF 


INTRODUCTION  TO   LYRICS  OF  LOWLY  LIFE 


I  THINK  I  should  scarcely  trouble 
the  reader  with  a  special  appeal 
in  behalf  of  this  book,  if  it  had 
not  specially  appealed  to  me  for 
reasons  apart  from  the  author's 
race,  origin,  and  condition.  The 
world  is  too  old  now,  and  I  find 
myself  too  much  of  its  mood,  to 
care  for  the  work  of  a  poet  because 
he  is  black,  because  his  father  and 
mother  were  slaves,  because  he 
was,  before  and  after  he  began 
to  write  poems,  an  elevator-boy. 
These  facts  would  certainly  attract 
me  to  him  as  a  man,  if  I  knew 
him  to  have  a  literary  ambition, 
but  when  it  came  to  his  literary 
art,  I  must  judge  it  irrespective  of 
these  facts,  and  enjoy  or  endure  it 
for  what  it  was  in  itself. 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  was  my 
experience  with  the  poetry  of  Paul 
Laurence  Dunbar  when  I  found 
it  in  another  form,  and  in  justice 
to  him  I  cannot  wish  that  it  should 
be  otherwise  with  his  readers  here. 
Still,  it  will  legitimately  interest 
those  who  like  to  know  the  causes, 
or,  if  these  may  not  be  known,  the 
sources,  of  things,  to  learn  that  the 
father  and  mother  of  the  first  poet 
of  his  race  in  our  language  were 
negroes  without  admixture  of  white 


blood.  The  father  escaped  from 
slavery  in  Kentucky  to  freedom  in 
Canada,  while  there  was  still  no 
hope  of  freedom  otherwise;  but 
the  mother  was  freed  by  the  events 
of  the  civil  war,  and  came  North 
to  Ohio,  where  their  son  was  born 
at  Dayton,  and  grew  up  with  such 
chances  and  mischances  for  mental 
training  as  everywhere  befall  the 
children  of  the  poor.  He  has  told 
me  that  his  father  picked  up  the 
trade  of  a  plasterer,  and  when  he 
had  taught  himself  to  read,  loved 
chiefly  to  read  history.  The  boy's 
mother  shared  his  passion  for  lit- 
erature, with  a  special  love  of 
poetry,  and  after  the  father  died 
she  struggled  on  in  more  than  the 
poverty  she  had  shared  with  him. 
She  could  value  the  faculty  which 
her  son  showed  first  in  prose 
sketches  and  attempts  at  fiction, 
and  she  was  proud  of  the  praise 
and  kindness  they  won  him  among 
the  people  of  the  town,  where  he 
has  never  been  without  the  warm- 
est and  kindest  friends. 

In  fact  from  every  part  of  Ohio 
and  from  several  cities  of  the  ad- 
joining States,  there  came  letters 
in  cordial  appreciation  of  the  crit- 
ical recognition  which  it  was  my 


[vii] 


INTRODUCTION 


pleasure  no  less  than  my  duty  to 
offer  Paul  Dunbar's  work  in  an- 
other place.  It  seemed  to  me  a 
happy  omen  for  him  that  so  many 
people  who  had  known  him,  or 
known  of  him,  were  glad  of  a 
stranger's  good  word;  and  it  was 
gratifying  to  see  that  at  home  he 
was  esteemed  for  the  things  he  had 
done  rather  than  because  as  the 
son  of  negro  slaves  he  had  done 
them.  If  a  prophet  is  often  with- 
out honor  in  his  own  country,  it 
surely  is  nothing  against  him 
when  he  has  it.  In  this  case  it  de- 
prived me  of  the  glory  of  a  dis- 
coverer; but  that  is  sometimes  a 
barren  joy,  and  I  am  always  will- 
ing to  forego  it. 

What  struck  me  in  reading  Mr. 
Dunbar's  poetry  was  what  had  al- 
ready struck  his  friends  in  Ohio 
and  Indiana,  in  Kentucky  and 
Illinois.  They  had  felt,  as  I  felt, 
that  however  gifted  his  race  had 
proven  itself  in  music,  in  oratory, 
in  several  of  the  other  arts,  here 
was  the  first  instance  of  an  Ameri- 
can negro  who  had  evinced  innate 
distinction  in  literature.  In  my 
criticism  of  his  book  I  had  alleged 
Dumas  in  France,  and  I  had  for- 
getfully failed  to  allege  the  far 
greater  Pushkin  in  Russia;  but 
these  were  both  mulattoes,  who 
might  have  been  supposed  to  derive 
their  qualities  from  white  blood 


vastly  more  artistic  than  ours,  and 
who  were  the  creatures  of  an  en- 
vironment more  favorable  to  their 
literary  development.  So  far  as 
I  could  remember,  Paul  Dunbar 
was  the  only  man  of  pure  African 
blood  and  of  American  civiliza- 
tion to  feel  the  negro  life  aesthetic- 
ally and  express  it  lyrically.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this  had  come 
to  its  most  modern  consciousness 
in  him,  and  that  his  brilliant  and 
unique  achievement  was  to  have 
studied  the  American  negro  ob- 
jectively, and  to  have  represented 
him  as  he  found  him  to  be,  with 
humor,  with  sympathy,  and  yet 
with  what  the  reader  must  instinc- 
tively feel  to  be  entire  truthful- 
ness. I  said  that  a  race  which 
had  come  to  this  effect  in  any  mem- 
ber of  it,  had  attained  civilization 
in  him,  and  I  permitted  myself  the 
imaginative  prophecy  that  the  hos- 
tilities and  the  prejudices  which 
had  so  long  constrained  his  race 
were  destined  to  vanish  in  the  arts ; 
that  these  were  to  be  the  final  proof 
that  God  had  made  of  one  blood 
all  nations  of  men.  I  thought  his 
merits  positive  and  not  compara- 
tive; and  I  held  that  if  his  black 
poems  had  been  written  by  a  white 
man,  I  should  not  have  found  them 
less  admirable.  I  accepted  them 
as  an  evidence  of  the  essential  unity 
of  the  human  race,  which  does  not 


[viii] 


INTRODUCTION 


think  or  feel  black  in  one  and 
white  in  another,  but  humanly  in 
all. 

Yet  it  appeared  to  me  then,  and 
it  appears  to  me  now,  that  there  is 
a  precious  difference  of  tempera- 
ment between  the  races  which  it 
would  be  a  great  pity  ever  to  lose, 
and  that  this  is  best  preserved  and 
most  charmingly  suggested  by  Mr. 
Dunbar  in  those  pieces  of  his  where 
he  studies  the  moods  and  traits  of 
his  race  in  its  own  accent  of  our 
English.  We  call  such  pieces  dia- 
lect pieces  for  want  of  some  closer 
phrase,  but  they  are  really  not  dia- 
lect so  much  as  delightful  personal 
attempts  and  failures  for  the  writ- 
ten and  spoken  language.  In 
nothing  is  his  essentially  refined 
and  delicate  art  so  well  shown  as 
in  these  pieces,  which,  as  I  ven- 
tured to  say,  described  the  range 
between  appetite  and  emotion, 
with  certain  lifts  far  beyond  and 
above  it,  which  is  the  range  of  the 
race.  He  reveals  in  these  a  finely 
ironical  perception  of  the  negro's 
limitations,  with  a  tenderness  for 
them  which  I  think  so  very  rare  as 
to  be  almost  quite  new.  I  should 
say,  perhaps,  that  it  was  this  hu- 
morous quality  which  Mr.  Dunbar 
had  added  to  our  literature,  and  it 
would  be  this  which  would  most 
distinguish  him,  now  and  here- 
after. It  is  something  that  one 

[ix 


feels  in  nearly  all  the  dialect  pieces ; 
and  I  hope  that  in  the  present  col- 
lection he  has  kept  all  of  these 
in  his  earlier  volume,  and  added 
others  to  them.  But  the  contents 
of  this  book  are  wholly  of  his, own 
choosing,  and  I  do  not  know  how 
much  or  little  he  may  have  pre- 
ferred the  poems  in  literary  Eng- 
lish. Some  of  these  I  thought 
very  good,  and  even  more  than 
very  good,  but  not  distinctively  his 
contribution  to  the  body  of  Ameri- 
can poetry.  What  I  mean  is  that 
several  people  might  have  written 
them;  but  I  do  not  know  any  one 
else  at  present  who  could  quite 
have  written  the  dialect  pieces. 
These  are  divinations  and  reports 
of  what  passes  in  the  hearts  and 
minds  of  a  lowly  people  whose 
poetry  had  hitherto  been  inarticu- 
lately expressed  in  music,  but  now 
finds,  for  the  first  time  in  our 
tongue,  literary  interpretation  of  a 
very  artistic  completeness. 

I  say  the  event  is  interesting, 
but  how  important  it  shall  be  can 
be  determined  only  by  Mr.  Dun- 
bar's  future  performance.  I  can- 
not undertake  to  prophesy  concern- 
ing this;  but  if  he  should  do 
nothing  more  than  he  has  done, 
I  should  feel  that  he  had  made 
the  strongest  claim  for  the  negro  in 
English  literature  that  the  negro 
has  yet  made.  He  has  at  least 


INTRODUCTION 

produced    something    that,    how-      enjoy;  in  more  than  one  piece  he 
ever    we    may    critically    disagree     has  produced  a  work  of  art. 
about  it,  we  cannot  well  refuse  to 

W,  D.  HOWELLS. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


ABSENCE   

ACCOUNTABILITY 

ADVICE 

AFTER  A  VISIT 

AFTER  MANY  DAYS 

AFTER  THE  QUARREL 

AFTER  WHILE  

ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL  — 

DEAD  

ALICE 

ANCHORED    

ANGELINA 

ANTE-BELLUM  SERMON,  AN 

APPRECIATION 

AT  CANDLE-LIGHTIN'  TIME 
AT  CHESHIRE  CHEESE 

AT  LOAFING-HOLT 

AT  NIGHT 

AT  SUNSET  TIME 

AT  THE  TAVERN 

AWAKENING,  THE 


BACK-LOG  SONG,  A 

BALLAD   , 

BALLADE   , 

BANJO  SONG,  A  . . 


PAGE 

93 

5 

250 

42 

267 

40 

53 


40 
256 
138 

13 
247 
155 
129 
263 
254 
263 
226 
252 

H3 
58 

204 
20 


BARRIER,  THE  

BEHIND  THE  ARRAS 

BEIN'  BACK  HOME 

BEYOND  THE  YEARS 

BLACK  SAMSON  OF  BRANDY- 
WINE    

BLUE  

BOHEMIAN,  THE 

BOOGAH  MAN,  THE 

BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON  . . 

BORDER  BALLAD,  A 

BOY'S  SUMMER  SONG,  A  . . . 

BREAKING  THE  CHARM 

BRIDAL  MEASURE,  A 

BY  RUGGED  WAYS 

BY  THE  STREAM 

CABIN  TALE,  A 

CAPTURE,  THE 

CAREER,  A 

CHANGE  HAS  COME,  THE  . 

CHANGE,  THE 

CHANGING  TIME 

CHASE,  THE 

CHOICE,  A 

CHRISMUS  Is  A-COMIN'  . 


PAGE 

99 

94 

259 


205 

253 

92 

185 

209 

48 

235 
149 

97 

215 

50 

153 
275 
285 

58 
258 

72 
258 
125 
153 


[xi] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

CHRISMUS  ON  THE  PLANTA- 
TION     137 

CHRISTMAS   269 

CHRISTMAS  CAROL 278 

CHRISTMAS  FOLKSONG,  A  . .  236 
CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  HEART  .  105 
CIRCUMSTANCES  ALTER 

CASES 261 

COLORED  BAND,  THE 178 

COLORED  SOLDIERS,  THE  ...     50 

COLUMBIAN  ODE 47 

COMMUNION no 

COMPARISON   59 

COMPENSATION 256 

CONFESSIONAL    1 16 

CONFIDENCE,  A 73 

CONQUERORS,  THE 112 

CONSCIENCE  AND  REMORSE  .  31 
COQUETTE  CONQUERED,  A  62 

CORN-SONG,  A 59 

CORN-STALK  FIDDLE,  THE  .     16 

CRISIS,  THE  1 1 1 

CURIOSITY  241 

CURTAIN   42 

DANCE,  THE  170 

DAT  OL'  MARE  O'  MINE  . .  189 

DAWN    65 

DAY 248 

DEACON  JONES'  GRIEVANCE  39 

DEAD  73 

DEATH    227 


PAGE 


DEATH  OF  THE  FIRST  BORN, 
THE  ..................  258 

DEATH  SONG,  A  ..........   142 

DEBT,  THE  ..............  213 

DE  CRITTERS'  DANCE  ......    181 

DELINQUENT,  THE  .  .  .....     64 

DELY  ...................   148 

DESERTED  PLANTATION, 
THE  ..................     67 

DESPAIR  .................  261 

DE  WAY  T'INGS  COME  ....   225 

DIFFERENCES    ............   192 

DILETTANTE,  THE:  A 

MODERN  TYPE  .........     49 

DINAH  KNEADING  DOUGH  .   188 
DIPLOMACY  ..............  238 

DIRGE    ..................     66 

DIRGE  FOR  A  SOLDIER  ......   199 

DISAPPOINTED  ............     60 

DISCOVERED  ..............     60 

DISCOVERY,  THE  .........  251 

DISTINCTION  .............   114 

DISTURBER,  THE  .........    131 

DOUGLASS  ...............  208 

DOVE,  THE  ..............   167 

DREAM  SONG  I  ...........   104 

DREAM  SONG  II  ..........   104 

DREAMER,  THE  ..........    100 

DREAMIN'  TOWN  .........  254 

DREAMS  .................    100 

DREAMS  .................   166 

DRIZZLE    ................   180 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


DROWSY  DAY,  A 


PAGE 
65 


EASY-COIN'  FELLER,  AN  . . . 

ENCOURAGED 

ENCOURAGEMENT 

END  OF  THE  CHAPTER,  THE 

EQUIPMENT    

ERE  SLEEP  COMES  DOWN  TO 
SOOTHE  THE  WEARY  EYES 

EVENING   

EXPECTATION 


FAITH    

FAREWELL  TO  ARCADY 
FARM  CHILD'S  LULLABY, 

THE 

FISHER  CHILD'S  LULLABY, 

THE 

FISHING 

FLORIDA  NIGHT,  A  

FOOLIN'  WID  DE  SEASONS  . . 
FOR  THE  MAN  WHO  FAILS 
FOREST  GREETING,  THE  . . 

FOREVER  

FOUNT  OF  TEARS,  THE  . . . 
FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 

FROLIC,  A 

FROM  THE  PORCH  AT 

RUNNYMEDE  . 


49 

238 

184 

101 

276 

3 

276 


244 
123 

245 


GARRET,  THE  . . 
GOLDEN  DAY,  A 


GOOD-NIGHT  . . 
GOURD,  THE  . . 
GRIEVANCE,  A 
GROWIN'  GRAY 


PAGE 
6l 

107 

188 
80 


HARRIET  BEECH ER  STOWE  . . 

HAUNTED  OAK,  THE 

HE  HAD  His  DREAM 

HER  THOUGHT  AND  His  . . . 

HOPE  

How  LUCY  BACKSLID 

How  SHALL  I  Woo  THEE  . 
"  HOWDY,  HONEY,  HOWDY  !  " 

HUNTING  SONG    

HYMN   

HYMN   

HYMN,  A  


244 

172     IF 

191     IONE    

139     IN  AN  ENGLISH  GARDEN  . 

1 1 8     IN  AUGUST 

237     IN  MAY  

240     IN  SUMMER 

224     IN  SUMMER  TIME 

6     IN  THE  MORNING 

200     IN  THE  TENTS  OF  AKBAR 

INSPIRATION   

275     INVITATION  TO  LOVE 

ITCHING  HEELS 

96 

251     JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 
[xiii] 


119 

219 

61 

93 
247 
158 
289 
196 
150 

66 

133 
98 

75 

3i 

in 

130 

1 66 

9i 
280 
190 
223 
179 

61 

222 
287 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

JEALOUS    145 

JILTED   136 

JOGGIN'  ERLONG 165 

JOHNNY  SPEAKS 235 

JUST  WHISTLE  A  BIT 98 

KEEP  A-PLUGGIN'  AWAY 46 

KEEP  A  SONG  UP  ON  DE  WAY  169 

KIDNAPED   255 

KING  Is  DEAD,  THE 105 

KNIGHT,  THE 108 

LAPSE,  THE  122 

LAWYERS'  WAYS,  THE  ....  22 

LAZY  DAY,  A 249 

LESSON,  THE   8 

LETTER,  A 151 

LIFE 8 

LIFE'S  TRAGEDY 225 

LI'L'  GAL    207 

LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY,  THE  237 

LIMITATIONS 250 

LINCOLN   184 

LITTLE  BROWN  BABY 134 

LITTLE  CHRISTMAS  BASKET, 

A   174 

LITTLE  LUCY  LANDMAN  ...  107 

LIZA  MAY 267 

LONESOME 79 

LONG  AGO 192 

'LONG  TO'DS  NIGHT 187 

LONGING  .  2 1 


PAGE 

LOOKING-GLASS,  THE 206 

LOST  DREAM,  A  . . .  1 270 

LOVE    103 

LOVE  AND  GRIEF 102 

LOVE  DESPOILED 122 

LOVE  LETTER,  A 266 

LOVE-SONG    210 

LOVE  SONG,  A 222 

LOVER  AND  THE  MOON, 

THE 29 

LOVER'S  LANE 132 

LOVE'S  APOTHEOSIS  89 

LOVE'S  CASTLE 201 

LOVE'S  DRAFT 252 

LOVE'S  HUMILITY 106 

LOVE'S  PHASES 117 

LOVE'S  PICTURES  282 

LOVE'S  SEASONS 215 

LULLABY 144 

LYRIC,  A 288 

MADRIGAL,  A 287 

MARE  RUBRUM no 

MASTER-PLAYER,  THE  ....     17 

MASTERS,  THE 268 

MEADOW  LARK,  THE 71 

MELANCHOLIA   54 

MEMORY  OF  MARTHA,  THE  194 

MERRY  AUTUMN 56 

MISTY  DAY,  A 207 

MISAPPREHENSION 117 

MONK'S  WALK,  THE 209 


[xiv] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

MORNING    252 

MORNING  SONG  OF  LOVE  . .  202 

MORTALITY 103 

MY  CORN-COB  PIPE 129 

MY  LADY  OF  CASTLE  GRAND  180 
MY  LITTLE  MARCH  GIRL  . .   120 

MY  SORT  o'  MAN 140 

MY  SWEET  BROWN  GAL  ...   176 

MYSTERY,  THE 17 

MYSTIC  SEA,  THE 91 

MURDERED  LOVER,  THE  ...  211 
MUSICAL,  A 253 

NATURE  AND  ART 52 

NEGRO  LOVE  SONG,  A 49 

NEWS,  THE 136 

NIGHT  263 

NIGHT,  DIM  NIGHT 227 

NIGHT  OF  LOVE 46 

NODDIN'  BY  DE  FIRE 201 

NOON     226 

NORA  :  A  SERENADE 62 

NOT  THEY  WHO  SOAR 18 

NUTTING  SONG 282 

OCTOBER   63 

ODE  FOR  MEMORIAL  DAY  . .  22 

ODE  TO  ETHIOPIA 15 

OLD  APPLE-TREE,  THE  ....  10 

OLD  CABIN,  THE 260 

OLD  FRONT  GATE,  THE  ...  199 

OLD  HOMESTEAD,  THE 283 


PAGE 

OLD  MEMORY,  AN 284 

OL'  TUNES,  THE 53 

ON  A  CLEAN  BOOK 202 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  W.  C.  . .  284 
ON  THE  DEDICATION  OF 

DOROTHY  HALL 214 

ON  THE  RIVER 285 

ON  THE  ROAD 142 

ON  THE  SEA  WALL 115 

ONE  LIFE 72 

OPPORTUNITY 242 

OVER  THE  HILLS 90 


PARADOX,  THE 

PARTED    

PARTED    

PARTY,  THE 

PASSION  AND  LOVE 

PATH,  THE 

PHANTOM  Kiss,  THE 

PHILOSOPHY   

PHOTOGRAPH,  THE 

PHYLLIS 

PLACE  WHERE  THE  RAIN- 
BOW ENDS,  THE , 

PLANTATION  CHILD'S  LUL- 
LABY, THE , 

PLANTATION  PORTRAIT,  A  . , 

PLANTATION  MELODY,  A  . . , 

PLEA,  A 

POET  AND  His  SONG,  THE  . 

POET  AND  THE  BABY,  THE 


89 
240 

H5 
83 
ii 

21 
IO9 
212 
144 

74 
246 

241 
173 
193 
167 

4 
114 


[xv] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

POET,  THE  191 

POOL,  THE 198 

POOR  WITHERED  ROSE 286 

POSSESSION    198 

POSSUM  141 

POSSUM  TROT 147 

PRAYER,  A 14 

PRECEDENT   106 

PREFERENCE,  A 213 

PREMONITION   23 

PREPARATION    67 

PROMETHEUS    117 

PROMISE    12 

PROTEST 133 

PUTTIN'  THE  BABY  AWAY  . .  243 

QUILTING,  THE 240 


RAIN-SONGS    

REAL  QUESTION,  THE 

RELIGION 

RELUCTANCE 

REMEMBERED    

RESIGNATION 

RESPONSE    

RETORT    

RETROSPECTION 

RIDING  TO  TOWN 

RIGHT  TO  DIE,  THE 

RIGHT'S  SECURITY 

RISING  OF  THE  STORM,  THE 
RIVALS,  THE 


270 

135 

38 

203 

121 

106 

175 

5 

24 
70 
94 
75 
8 

27 


PAGE 

RIVER  OF  RUIN,  THE 265 

ROADWAY,  A 214 

ROBERT  GOULD  SHAW 221 

ROSES 221 

ROSES  AND  PEARLS 270 

SAILOR'S  SONG,  A 92 

SAND-MAN,  THE 235 

SCAMP  239 

SECRET,  THE 68 

SEEDLING,  THE 12 

SHE  GAVE  ME  A  ROSE 103 

SHE  TOLD  HER  BEADS 106 

SHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE 

NIGHT  64 

SIGNS  OF  THE  TIMES 77 

SILENCE 186 

SLOW  THROUGH  THE  DARK  211 

SNOWIN'  168 

SOLILOQUY  OF  A  TURKEY  ...  171 

SONG  13 

SONG  178 

SONG,  A 248 

SONG,  A  271 

SONG  OF  SUMMER 26 

SONG,  THE 76 

SONNET  115 

SPARROW,  THE 78 

SPEAKIN'  AT  DE'  COU'T- 

HOUSE 205 

SPEAKIN'  o'  CHRISTMAS 78 

SPELLIN'-BEE,  THE 42 


[xvi] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


SPIRITUAL,  A  

SPRING  FEVER 

SPRING  SONG 

SPRING  WOOING,  A  . . 
STARRY  NIGHT,  A  . . . 
SUMMER  NIGHT,  A  . . 
STIRRUP  CUP,  THE  . . 
SUMMER  PASTORAL,  A 
SUMMER'S  NIGHT,  A  . 

SUM,  THE 

SUNSET   

SUPPOSE 

SYMPATHY 


TEMPTATION 

THANKSGIVING  POEM,  A  ... 

THEN  AND  Now 

THEOLOGY 

THOU  ART  MY  LUTE 

TILL  THE  WIND  GETS 

RIGHT  

TIME  TO  TINKER  'ROUN'!  . 
To  A  CAPTIOUS  CRITIC  .... 
To  A  LADY  PLAYING  THE 

HARP 

To  A  DEAD  FRIEND 

To  A  VIOLET  FOUND  ON  ALL 

SAINTS'  DAY 

To  AN  INGRATE 

To  DAN 

ToE.  H.  K 

To  HER  . 


PAGE 
194 

I76 

26 

164 

288 

262 

125 

279 

64 

II4 

9 
258 

102 

I46 
28l 
129 
1 06 
109 

262 

135 
189 

116 
216 

179 
223 
248 

97 
266 


PAGE 

To  J.  Q 238 

To  LOUISE  26 

To  PFRIMMER 277 

To  THE  EASTERN  SHORE  . . .  202 
To  THE  MEMORY  OF  MARY 

YOUNG  81 

To  THE  MIAMI 277 

To  THE  ROAD 163 

To  THE  SOUTH 216 

TROUBLE  IN  DE  KITCHEN  . .  268 

TRYST,  THE 166 

TURNING  OF  THE  BABIES  IN 

THE  BED,  THE 170 

TWELL  DE  NIGHT  Is  PAS'  . .  253 

TWILIGHT  241 

Two  LITTLE  BOOTS 163 

Two  SONGS 19 

UNEXPRESSED   25 

UNLUCKY  APPLE,  THE  ....  251 
UNSUNG  HEROES,  THE 196 

VAGRANTS  119 

VALSE,  THE 175 

VENGEANCE  Is  SWEET 98 

VETERAN,  THE 256 

VOICE  OF  THE  BANJO,  THE  .  124 
VISITOR,  THE 177 

WADIN'  IN  DE  CREEK 239 

WAITING  100 

WARM  DAY  IN  WINTER,  A  .   168 


[xvii] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

WE  WEAR  THE  MASK 71 

WARRIOR'S  PRAYER,  THE  . .   123 

WELTSCHMERTZ 220 

WEN  I  GITS  HOME 195 

WHAT'S  THE  USE 249 

WHEN  A  FELLER'S  ITCHIN' 

TO  BE  SPANKED 264 

WHEN  ALL  Is  DONE 113 

WHEN  DE  CO'N  PONE'S  HOT     57 
WHEN  DEY  'LISTED  COL- 
ORED SOLDIERS 182 

WHEN  MALINDY  SINGS  ....     82 

WHEN  SAM'L  SINGS 208 

WHEN  THE  OLD  MAN 

SMOKES   95 

WHEN  WINTER  DARKENING 
ALL  AROUND 275 


PAGE 


WHIP-POOR- WILL  AND 

KATY-DID    186 

WHISTLING  SAM 156 

WHITTIER  18 

WHY  FADES  A  DREAM  ?  . . . .     77 
WIND  AND  THE  SEA,  THE  . .     69 

WINTER-SONG    236 

WINTER'S  APPROACH 256 

WINTER'S  DAY,  A 120 

WITH  THE  LARK 90 

WOOING,  THE   55 

WORN  OUT 286 

WRAITH,  THE  186 

YESTERDAY  AND  To-MoR- 

ROW    257 


[xviii] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

A  bee  that  was  searching  for  sweets  one  day 19 

A  blue-bell  springs  upon  the  ledge 26 

A  cloud  fell  down  from  the  heavens 288 

A  crust  of  bread  and  a  corner  to  sleep  in 8 

A  hush  is  over  all  the  teeming  lists 6 

A  knock  is  at  her  door,  but  she  is  weak 73 

A  life  was  mine  full  of  the  close  concern 103 

A  lilt  and  a  swing 226 

A  little  bird  with  plumage  brown 78 

A  little  dreaming  by  the  way 114 

A  lover  whom  duty  called  over  the  wave 29 

A  maiden  wept  and,  as  a  comforter 1 1 

A  man  of  low  degree  was  sore  oppressed in 

A  song  for  the  unsung  heroes  who  rose  in  the  country's  need 196 

A  song  is  but  a  little  thing 4 

A  youth  went  farming  up  and  down 55 

Across  the  hills  and  down  the  narrow  ways 120 

Adown  the  west  a  golden  glow 263 

Ah,  Douglass,  we  have  fall'n  on  evil  days 208 

Ah,  I  have  changed,  I  do  not  know 270 

Ah,  love,  my  love  is  like  a  cry  in  the  night 222 

Ah  me,  it  is  cold  and  chill 186 

Ah,  Nora,  my  Nora,  the  light  fades  away 62 

Ah,  yes,  't  is  sweet  still  to  remember, 31 

Ah,  yes,  the  chapter  ends  to-day  . 101 

Ain't  it  nice  to  have  a  mammy 239 

Ain't  nobody  tol'  you  not  a  wo'd  a-tall 181 

[xix] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Air  a-gittin'  cool  an'  coolah 77 

All  de  night  long  twell  de  moon  goes  down 253 

All  hot  and  grimy  from  the  road 224 

Along  by  the  river  of  ruin 265 

An  angel  robed  in  spotless  white 65 

An  old  man  planted  and  dug  and  tended 60 

An  old,  worn  harp  that  had  been  played 17 

As  a  quiet  little  seedling 12 

As  in  some  dim  baronial  hall  restrained 94 

As  lone  I  sat  one  summer's  day 122 

As  some  rapt  gazer  on  the  lowly  earth 106 

Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  unto  dust 103 

At  the  golden  gate  of  song 179 

Aye,  lay  him  in  his  grave,  the  old  dead  year! 105 

Back  to  the  breast  of  thy  mother 113 

Because  I  had  loved  so  deeply 256 

Because  you  love  me  I  have  much  achieved 238 

Bedtime's  come  fu'  little  boys 144 

Belated  wanderer  of  the  ways  of  spring 179 

Beyond  the  years  the  answer  lies 41 

Bird  of  my  lady's  bower 19 

Bones  a-gittin'  achy 153 

Break  me  my  bounds,  and  let  me  fly 285 

Breezes  blowin'  middlin'  brisk 78 

Bring  me  the  livery  of  no  other  man 92 

By  Mystic's  banks  I  held  my  dream 204 

By  rugged  ways  and  thro'  the  night 215 

By  the  pool  that  I  see  in  my  dreams,  dear  love 198 

By  the  stream  I  dream  in  calm  delight,  and  watch  as  in  a  glass  ...  50 

Caught  Susanner  whistlin' ;  well 149 

[xx] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Come  away  to  dreamin'  town 254 

Come,  drink  a  stirrup  cup  with  me 125 

Come,  essay  a  sprightly  measure ; 97 

Come  on  walkin'  wid  me,  Lucy;  't  ain't  no  time  to  mope  erroun'  ...  164 

Come  to  the  pane,  draw  the  curtain  apart 120 

Come  when  the  nights  are  bright  with  stars 6 1 

Cool  is  the  wind,  for  the  summer  is  waning 163 

Cover  him  over  with  daisies  white 258 

Daih's  a  moughty  soothin'  feelin' 187 

Darling,  my  darling,  my  heart  is  on  the  wing 2O2 

Days  git  wa'm  an'  wa'mah 239 

De  axes  has  been  ringin'  in  de  woods  de  blessid  day 143 

De  breeze  is  blowin'  'cross  de  bay 145 

De  'cession's  stahted  on  de  gospel  way, 194 

De  da'kest  hour,  dey  allus  say 165 

De  dog  go  howlin'  'long  de  road 247 

De  night  creep  down  erlong  de  Ian' 166 

De  ol'  time's  gone,  de  new  time's  hyeah 192 

De  sun  hit  shine  an'  de  win'  hit  blow 256 

De  times  is  mighty  stirrin'  'mong  de  people  up  ouah  way 158 

De  trees  is  bendin'  in  de  sto'm 193 

De  way  t'ings  come,  hit  seems  to  me 225 

De  win'  is  blowin'  wahmah 236 

De  win'  is  hollahin*  "  Daih  you  "  to  de  shuttahs  an'  de  fiah 174 

Dear  critic,  who  my  lightness  so  deplores 189 

Dear  heart,  good-night ! 23 

Dear  Miss  Lucy:  I  been  t'inkin'  dat  I'd  write  you  long  fo'  dis  .  . . .  151 

Deep  in  my  heart  that  aches  with  the  repression 25 

Dey  been  speakin'  at  de  cou't-house 205 

Dey  had  a  gread  big  pahty  down  to  Tom's  de  othah  night 83 

Dey  is  snow  upon  the  meddahs 168 

[xxi] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Dey  is  times  in  life  when  Nature 57 

Dey  was  oncet  a  awful  quoil  'twixt  de  skillet  an'  de  pot 268 

Dey  was  talkin'  in  de  cabin,  dey  was  talkin'  in  de  hall 182 

Dey's  a  so't  o'  threatenin'  feelin'  in  de  blowin'  of  de  breeze 171 

Dinah  stan'  befo'  de  glass 206 

Dis  is  gospel  weathah  sho' — 26 

Do'  a-stan'in'  on  a  jar,  fiah  a-shinin'  thoo 196 

Dolly  sits  a-quilting  by  her  mother,  stitch  by  stitch 240 

Done  are  the  toils  and  the  wearisome  marches 22 

Dream  days  of  fond  delight  and  hours 287 

Dream  on,  for  dreams  are  sweet 100 

Driftwood  gathered  here  and  there 277 

Duck  come  switchin'  'cross  de  lot 275 

Ef  dey's  anyt'ing  dat  riles  me 141 

Ef  you's  only  got  de  powah  fe'  to  blow  a  little  whistle 250 

Eight  of  'em  hyeah  all  toP  an'  yet 243 

Emblem  of  blasted  hope  and  lost  desire 115 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the  weary  eyes 3 

Folks  ain't  got  no  right  to  censuah  othah  folks  about  dey  habits  ...  5 

Folks  is  talkin'  'bout  de  money,  'bout  de  silvah  an'  de  gold 135 

Four  hundred  years  ago  a  tangled  waste 47 

Fu'  de  peace  o'  my  eachin'  heels,  set  down 222 

God  has  his  plans,  and  what  if  we 81 

"  Good-bye,"  I  said  to  my  conscience 31 

Goo'-by,  Jinks,  I  got  to  hump 64 

Good  hunting!  —  aye,  good  hunting 237 

Good-night,  my  love,  for  I  have  dreamed  of  thee 93 

Granny's  gone  a-visitin' 242 

Grass  commence  a-comin' 176 

[xxii] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Gray  are  the  pages  of  record 205 

Gray  is  the  palace  where  she  dwells 180 

G'way  an'  quit  dat  noise,  Miss  Lucy  . 82 


Hain't  you  see  my  Mandy  Lou 173 

He  had  his  dream,  and  all  through  life 61 

He  loved  her,  and  through  many  years 129 

He  sang  of  life  serenely  sweet 191 

He  scribbles  some  in  prose  and  verse, 49 

Heart  of  my  heart,  the  day  is  chill 207 

Heart  of  the  Southland,  heed  me  pleading  now 216 

Heel  and  toe,  heel  and  toe 170 

Hello,  ole  man,  you're  a-gittin'  gray 80 

Hit's  been  drizzlin'  an'  been  sprinklin'   180 

Home  agin,  an'  home  to  stay 259 

How  shall  I  woo  thee  to  win  thee,  mine  own  ? 289 

How  sweet  the  music  sounded 284 

How's  a  man  to  write  a  sonnet,  can  you  tell 114 

Hurt  was  the  nation  with  a  mighty  wound 184 

Hyeah  come  Caesar  Higgins 145 

Hyeah  dat  singin'  in  de  medders 208 

"  I  am  but  clay,"  the  sinner  plead 114 

I  am  no  priest  of  crooks  nor  creeds 38 

I  am  the  mother  of  sorrows 89 

I  be'n  down  in  ole  Kentucky 42 

I  been  t'inkin'  'bout  de  preachah;  whut  he  said  de  othah  night  ....  212 

I  did  not  know  that  life  could  be  so  sweet 252 

I  done  got  'uligion,  honey,  an'  I's  happy  ez  a  king 146 

I  don't  believe  in  'ristercrats 140 

I  grew  a  rose  once  more  to  please  mine  eyes 13 

I  grew  a  rose  within  a  garden  fair 12 

[xxiii] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

I  had  not  known  before 240 

I  has  hyeahd  o'  people  dancin'  an'  I's  hyeahd  o'  people  singin'  ....  156 

I  have  no  fancy  for  that  ancient  cant 94 

I  have  seen  full  many  a  sight 188 

I  held  my  heart  so  far  from  harm 255 

I  found  you  and  I  lost  you 251 

I  know  a  man 235 

I  know  my  love  is  true 58 

I  know  what  the  caged  bird  feels,  alas ! 102 

I  never  shall  furgit  that  night  when  father  hitched  up  Dobbin  ....  42 

I  sit  upon  the  old  sea  wall 115 

I  stand  above  the  city's  rush  and  din 275 

I  stood  by  the  shore  at  the  death  of  day 69 

I  think  that  though  the  clouds  .be  dark 53 

I  was  not ;  now  I  am  —  a  few  days  hence 17 

If  Death  should  claim  me  for  her  own  to-day 210 

If  life  were  but  a  dream,  my  Love 75 

If  the  muse  were  mine  to  tempt  it 50 

If  thro*  the  sea  of  night  which  here  surrounds  me 256 

If  'twere  fair  to  suppose 258 

If  you  could  sit  with  me  beside  the  sea  to-day 21 

In  a  small  and  lonely  cabin  out  of  noisy  traffic's  way 124 

In  de  dead  of  night  I  sometimes 260 

In  Life's  Red  Sea  with  faith  I  plant  my  feet 1 10 

In  the  east  the  morning  comes 199 

In  the  heavy  earth  the  miner 107 

In  the  forenoon's  restful  quiet 95 

In  the  silence  of  my  heart no 

In  this  sombre  garden  close 209 

In  the  tents  of  Akbar 223 

In  this  old  garden,  fair,  I  walk  to-day ill 

I's  a-gittin'  weary  of  de  way  dat  people  do 244 

[xxiv] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

I's  boun'  to  see  my  gal  to-night 142 

I's  feelin'  kin'  o'  lonesome  in  my  little  room  to-night 2O2 

It  is  as  if  a  silver  chord 216 

It  may  be  misery  not  to  sing  at  all 225 

It  was  Chrismus  Eve,  I  mind  hit  fu'  a  mighty  gloomy  day 137 

It's  all  a  farce, —  these  tales  they  tell 56 

It's  hot  to-day.     The  bees  is  buzzin' 279 

It's  moughty  tiahsome  layin'  'roun' 195 

I've  a  humble  little  motto 46 

I've  always  been  a  faithful  man 267 

I've  been  list'nin'  to  them  lawyers 22 

I've  been  watchin'  of  'em,  parson 39 

I've  journeyed  'roun'  consid'able,  a-seein'  men  an'  things 147 

Jes'  lak  toddy  wahms  you  thoo' 148 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  the  day  be  dark 98 

Key  and  bar,  key  and  bar 201 

Kiss  me,  Miami,  thou  most  constant  one! 277 

Know  you,  winds  that  blow  your  course 40 

Lay  me  down  beneaf  de  willers  in  de  grass 142 

Lead  gently,  Lord,  and  slow 98 

Let  me  close  the  eyes  of  my  soul 261 

Let  those  who  will  stride  on  their  barren  roads 214 

'Lias !  'Lias !  Bless  de  Lawd ! 190 

Like  sea-washed  sand  upon  the  shore 2O2 

Like  the  blush  upon  the  rose 282 

Little  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin'  eyes 134 

Little  brown  face  full  of  smiles 267 

Little  lady  at  de  do* 177 

Long  had  I  grieved  at  what  I  deemed  abuse 106 

Long  since,  in  sore  distress,  I  heard  one  pray 123 

[xxv] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Long  time  ago,  we  too  set  out 119 

Long  years  ago,  within  a  distant  clime 104 

Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  butterfly 117 

Love  is  the  light  of  the  world,  my  dear 231 

Love  me.     I  care  not  what  the  circling  years 89 

Love  used  to  carry  a  bow,  you  know 258 

Lucy  done  gone  back  on  me 136 

Mammy's  in  de  kitchen,  an'  de  do'  is  shet 241 

Mastah  drink  his  oP  Made'a 213 

Men  may  sing  of  their  Havanas,  elevating  to  the  stars 129 

Mother's  gone  a-visitin'  to  spend  a  month  er  two 79 

My  cot  was  down  by  a  cypress  grove 8 

My  heart  to  thy  heart 13 

My  lady  love  lives  far  away 288 

My  muvver's  ist  the  nicest  one 247 

My  neighbor  lives  on  the  hill 192 

My  soul,  lost  in  the  music's  mist 76 

Night,  dim  night,  and  it  rains,  my  love,  it  rains 227 

Night  is  for  sorrow  and  dawn  is  for  joy 90 

Not  o'er  thy  dust  let  there  be  spent 18 

No  matter  what  you  call  it 287 

Not  they  who  soar,  but  they  who  plod 18 

Not  to  the  midnight  of  the  gloomy  past 214 

O  li'P  lamb  out  in  de  col' 133 

O  Lord,  the  hard-won  miles 1 1 

O  Mother  Race !  to  thee  I  bring 15 

October  is  the  treasurer  of  the  year 63 

Oh,  de  clouds  is  mighty  heavy 169 

Oh,  de  grubbin'-hoe's  a-rustin'  in  de  co'nah , . . .  .  67 

Oh,  de  weathah  it  is  balmy  an'  de  breeze  is  sighin'  low 207 

[xxvi] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Oh,  dere's  lots  o'  keer  an'  trouble 20 

Oh  for  the  breath  of  the  briny  deep 92 

Oh,  I  am  hurt  to  death,  my  Love 72 

Oh,  I  des  received  a  letter  f'om  de  sweetest  little  gal 266 

Oh,  I  haven't  got  long  to  live,  for  we  all 48 

Oh,  summer  has  clothed  the  earth 91 

Oh  the  breeze  is  blowin'  balmy 262 

Oh,  the  day  has  set  me  dreaming 107 

Oh,  the  little  bird  is  rocking  in  the  cradle  of  the  wind 245 

Oh,  the  poets  may  sing  of  their  Lady  Irenes 26 

Oh  to  have  you  in  May 166 

Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  I  am  wholly  upset 131 

Oh,  who  is  the  Lord  of  the  land  of  life 268 

Oh,  who  would  be  sad  tho'  the  sky  be  a-graying 236 

Oh,  wind  of  the  spring-time,  oh,  free  wind  of  May 221 

On  a  summer's  day  as  I  sat  by  a  stream 248 

On  the  wide  veranda  white 59 

Once  Love  grew  bold  and  arrogant  of  air 102 

One  night  in  my  room,  still  and  beamless 109 

Our  good  knight,  Ted,  girds  his  broadsword  on 108 

Out  in  de  night  a  sad  bird  moans 194 

Out  in  the  sky  the  great  dark  clouds  are  massing 64 

Out  of  my  heart,  one  day,  I  wrote  a  song 117 

Out  of  my  heart,  one  treach'rous  winter's  day 102 

Out  of  the  sunshine  and  out  of  the  heat 167 

Outside  the  rain  upon  the  street 253 

Over  the  hills  and  the  valleys  of  dreaming 90 

Phyllis,  ah,  Phyllis,  my  life  is  a  gray  day 74 

Place  this  bunch  of  mignonette 66 

Poor  withered  rose,  she  gave  it  me 286 

Pray,  what  can  dreams  avail 104 

[xxvii] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Pray  why  are  you  so  bare,  so  bare 219 

Prometheus  stole  from  Heaven  the  sacred  fire 117 


Ring  out,  ye  bells ! 278 

Round  the  wide  earth,  from  the  red  field  your  valour  has  won  ....  1 12 

Say  a  mass  for  my  soul's  repose,  my  brother 21 1 

Search  thou  my  heart 1 1 6 

See  dis  pictyah  in  my  ban' 144 

Seems  lak  folks  is  mighty  curus 139 

Seen  my  lady  home  las'  night 49 

Seen  you  down  at  chu'ch  las'  night 60 

Shadder  in  de  valley 226 

She  gave  a  rose 103 

She  sang,  .and  I  listened  the  whole  song  thro' 121 

She  told  the  story,  and  the  whole  world  wept 119 

She  told  her  beads  with  downcast  eyes 106 

She  wrapped  her  soul  in  a  lace  of  lies 240 

Silence,  and  whirling  worlds  afar 263 

Silently  without  my  window 54 

Since  I  left  the  city's  heat 263 

Slow  de  night's  a-fallin' 186 

Slow  moves  the  pageant  of  a  climbing  race 211 

So  we,  who  Ve  supped  the  selfsame  cup 40 

Some  folks  t'inks  hit's  right  an'  p'opah 2OI 

Standin'  at  de  winder 253 

Step  me  now  a  bridal  measure 248 

Step  wid  de  banjo  an'  glide  wid  de  fiddle, 269 

Storm  and  strife  and  stress 227 

Summah  night  an'  sighin'  breeze 132 

Summah's  nice,  wif  sun  a-shinin' 132 

Summer  is  de  lovin'  time 262 

[xxviii] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Sunshine  on  de  medders 168 

Sweetest  of  the  flowers  a-blooming 237 

Swring  yo'  lady  roun'  an'  roun' 200 


Tek  a  cool  night,  good  an'  clean 150 

Tell  your  love  where  the  roses  blow 238 

Temples  he  built,  and  palaces  of  air 100 

The  air  is  dark,  the  sky  is  gray 65 

The  change  has  come,  and  Helen  sleeps 58 

The  cloud  looked  in  at  the  window 72 

The  draft  of  love  was  cool  and  sweet 252 

The  gray  dawn  on  the  mountain  top 248 

The  gray  of  the  sea,  and  the  gray  of  the  sky 93 

The  lake's  dark  breast 8 

The  lark  is  silent  in  his  nest 61 

The  little  bird  sits  in  the  nest  and  sings 67 

The  Midnight  wooed  the  Morning-Star 99 

The  mist  has  left  the  greening  plain 252 

The  moon  begins  her  stately  ride 276 

The  moon  has  left  the  sky,  love 46 

The  night  is  dewy  as  a  maiden's  mouth 64 

The  November  sun  invites  me 282 

The  poor  man  went  to  the  rich  man's  doors ,  .  106 

The  rain  streams  down  like  harpstrings  from  the  sky 270 

The  river  sleeps  beneath  the  sky 9 

The  sand-man  he's  a  jolly  old  fellow 235 

The  sky  of  brightest  gray  seems  dark 59 

The  smell  of  the  sea  in  my  nostrils 91 

The  snow  lies  deep  upon  the  ground 105 

The  sun  has  slipped  his  tether 100 

The  sun  hath  shed  its  kindly  light 281 

The  sun  is  low 285 

[xxix] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

The  trees  bend  down  along  the  stream 249 

The  wind  is  out  in  its  rage  to-night 244 

The  wind  told  the  little  leaves  to  hurry 258 

The  word  is  writ  that  he  who  runs  may  read 209 

The  world  is  a  snob,  and  the  man  who  wins 118 

The  young  queen  Nature,  ever  sweet  and  fair 52 

Ther'  ain't  no  use  in  all  this  strife 49 

There  are  no  beaten  paths  to  Glory's  height 21 

There  is  a  heaven,  for  ever,  day  by  day 106 

There's  a  fabulous  story 246 

There's  a  memory  keeps  a-runnin' 10 

These  are  the  days  of  elfs  and  fays 251 

They  please  me  not  —  these  solemn  songs 125 

This  is  the  debt  I  pay 213 

This  is  to-day,  a  golden  summer's  day 223 

This  poem  must  be  done  to-day 122 

Thou  arrant  robber,  Death ! 284 

"  Thou  art  a  fool,"  said  my  head  to  my  heart 5 

Thou  art  my  lute,  by  thee  I  sing 109 

Thou  art  the  soul  of  a  summer's  day 271 

Though  the  winds  be  dank 71 

Thy  tones  are  silver  melted  into  sound 116 

Tim  Murphy's  gon'  walkin'  wid  Maggie  O'Neill 261 

'Tis  an  old  deserted  homestead 283 

'Tis  better  to  set  here  beside  the  sea 186 

'Tis  fine  to  play 235 

To  me,  like  hauntings  of  a  vagrant  breath 97 

Treat  me  nice,  Miss  Mandy  Jane 167 

'Twas  the  apple  that  in  Eden 251 

'Twas  three  an'  thirty  year  ago 27 

'Twixt  a  smile  and  a  tear 241 

Two  little  boots  all  rough  an'  wo' 163 

[xxx] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Uncle  John,  he  makes  me  tired 73 

Underneath  the  autumn  sky 256 

Villain  shows  his  indiscretion 42 

Want  to  trade  me,  do  you,  mistah?     Oh,  well,  now,  I  reckon  not  .  .  189 

We  is  gathahed  hyeah,  my  brothahs 13 

We  wear  the  mask  that  grins  and  lies 7 1 

W'en  daih's  chillun  in  de  house 199 

W'en  de  clouds  is  hangin'  heavy  in  de  sky 176 

W'en  de  colo'ed  ban'  comes  ma'chin'  down  de  street 178 

W'en  de  evenin'  shadders  . 185 

W'en  de  snow's  a-fallin' 188 

W'en  I  git  up  in  de  mo'nin'  an'  de  clouds  is  big  an'  black 172 

W'en  us  fellers  stomp  around,  makin'  lots  o'  noise 264 

W'en  you  full  o'  worry 250 

What  are  the  things  that  make  life  bright? 238 

What  dreams  we  have  and  how  they  fly 166 

What  if  the  wind  do  howl  without 75 

What  says  the  wind  to  the  waving  trees  ? 68 

WTiat's  the  use  o'  folks  a-frownin' 24.9 

When  all  is  done,  and  my  last  word  is  said 113 

When  August  days  are  hot  an'  dry 130 

When  de  fiddle  gits  to  singin'  out  a  ol'  Vahginny  reel 138 

When  first  of  wise  old  Johnson  taught 129 

When  I  come  in  f'm  de  co'n-fiel'  aftah  wo'kin'  ha'd  all  day 155 

When  I  was  young  I  longed  for  Love 98 

When  labor  is  light  and  the  morning  is  fair  .  , 70 

When  Phyllis  sighs  and  from  her  eyes 175 

When  storms  arise 66 

When  summer  time  has  come,  and  all 280 

When  the  bees  are  humming  in  the  honeysuckle  vine 215 

[xxxi] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

When  the  corn's  all  cut  and  the  bright  stalks  shine 16 

When  to  sweet  music  my  lady  is  dancing 175 

When  winter  covering  all  the  ground 275 

When  you  and  I  were  young,  the  days 24 

Who  dat  knockin'  at  de  do'  ? 184 

Who  say  my  hea't  ain't  true  to  you  ? 133 

Whose  little  lady  is  you,  chile 198 

Whut  dat  you  whisperin'  keepin'  f'om  me  ? 136 

Whut  time  'd  dat  clock  strike? 254 

Whut  you  say,  dah  ?  huh,  uh !  chile 153 

Why  fades  a  dream  ? 77 

Why  was  it  that  the  thunder  voice  of  Fate 22 1 

Will  I  have  some  mo'  dat  pie  ? 203 

Win'  a-blowin'  gentle  so  de  san'  lay  low 191 

Wintah,  summah,  snow  er  shine 178 

Wintah  time  hit  comin' 241 

With  sombre  mien,  the  evening  gray 123 

With  what  thou  gavest  me,  O  Master 276 

Within  a  London  garret  high 96 

Woman's  sho'  a  cur'ous  critter,  an'  dey  ain't  no  doubtin'  dat 170 

Yes,  my  ha't  's  ez  ha'd  ez  stone 62 

Yesterday  I  held  your  hand 257 

You  ask  why  I  am  sad  to-day 220 

You  bid  me  hold  my  peace 286 

You  kin  talk  about  yer  anthems 53 

You'll  be  wonderin'  whut's  de  reason 131 

Your  presence  like  a  benison  to  me 266 

Your  spoken  words  are  roses  fine  and  sweet 270 


[xxxii] 


LYRICS  OF  LOWLY  LIFE 


ERE  SLEEP  COMES  DOWN 

TO    SOOTHE    THE 

WEARY  EYES 

ERE  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe 

the  weary  eyes, 

Which  all  the  day  with  cease- 
less care  have  sought 
The  magic  gold  which  from  the 

seeker  flies; 
Ere   dreams   put  on   the   gown 

and  cap  of  thought, 
And   make   the   waking   world   a 

world  of  lies, — 
Of  lies  most  palpable,  uncouth, 

forlorn, 
That  say  life's  full  of  aches  and 

tears  and  sighs, — 
Oh,  how  with  more  than  dreams 

the  soul  is  torn, 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 
weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes, 

How  all  the  griefs  and  heart- 
aches we  have  known 
Come  up  like  pois'nous  vapors  that 

arise 
From  some  base  witch's  caldron, 

when  the  crone, 
To  work  some  potent  spell,   her 

magic  plies. 

The  past  which  held  its  share  of 
bitter  pain, 


Whose  ghost  we  prayed  that  Time 

might  exorcise, 
Comes  up,  is  lived  and  suffered 

o'er  again, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes, 
What  phantoms   fill   the   dimly 

lighted  room; 

What  ghostly  shades  in  awe-creat- 
ing guise 
Are    bodied    forth    within    the 

teeming  gloom. 

What  echoes  faint  of  sad  and  soul- 
sick  cries, 
And  pangs  of  vague  inexplicable 

pain 

That  pay  the  spirit's  ceaseless  en- 
terprise, 
Come    thronging    through    the 

chambers  of  the  brain, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 
weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes, 
Where   ranges   forth   the   spirit 

far  and  free? 
Through  what  strange  realms  and 

unfamiliar  skies 
Tends  her  far  course  to  lands  of 


mystery 


[  3  ] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


To    lands    unspeakable  —  beyond 

surmise, 
Where    shapes    unknowable    to 

being  spring, 
Till,  faint  of  wing,  the  Fancy  fails 

and  dies 
Much  wearied  with  the  spirit's 

journeying, 
Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes. 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe  the 

weary  eyes, 
How  questioneth  the  soul  that 

other  soul, — 
The    inner    sense    which    neither 

cheats  nor  lies, 
But   self   exposes   unto   self,    a 

scroll 

Full  writ  with  all  life's  acts  un- 
wise or  wise, 
In     characters     indelible     and 

known ; 
So,   trembling  with   the  shock  of 

sad  surprise, 
The  soul  doth  view  its  awful 

self  alone, 

Ere  sleep  comes  down  to  soothe 
the  weary  eyes. 

When  sleep  comes  down  to  seal  the 

weary  eyes, 
The  last  dear  sleep  whose  soft 

embrace  is  balm, 
And  whom  sad  sorrow  teaches  us 

to  prize 

For  kissing  all  our  passions  into 
calm, 

r 


Ah,  then,  no  more  we  heed  the  sad 

world's  cries, 

Or  seek  to  probe  th'  eternal  mys- 
tery, 

Or  fret  our  souls  at  long-withheld 

replies, 

At   glooms   through  which  our 
visions  cannot  see, 

When  sleep  comes  down  to  seal  the 
weary  eyes. 

THE  POET  AND  HIS  SONG 

A  SONG  is  but  a  little  thing, 
And  yet  what  joy  it  is  to  sing! 
In  hours  of  toil  it  gives  me  zest, 
And  when  at  eve  I  long  for  rest ; 
When  cows  come  home  along  the 

bars, 

And  in  the  fold  I  hear  the  bell, 
As  Night,  the  shepherd,  herds  his 

stars, 
I  sing  my  song,  and  all  is  well. 

There  are  no  ears  to  hear  my  lays, 
No  lips  to  lift  a  word  of  praise; 
But  still,  with  faith  unfaltering, 
I  live  and  laugh  and  love  and  sing. 
What     matters     yon     unheeding 

throng  ? 
They    cannot    feel    my    spirit's 

spell, 

Since  life  is  sweet  and  love  is  long, 
I  sing  my  song,  and  all  is  well. 

My  days  are  never  days  of  ease; 
I   till  my  ground  and  prune  my 
trees. 

4  ] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


When  ripened  gold  is  all  the  plain, 
I  put  my  sickle  to  the  grain. 
I  labor  hard,  and  toil  and  sweat, 

While  others  dream  within  the 

dell; 
But  even  while  my  brow  is  wet, 

I  sing  my  song,  and  all  is  well. 

Sometimes  the  sun,  unkindly  hot, 
My  garden  makes  a  desert  spot ; 
Sometimes  a  blight  upon  the  tree 
Takes  all  my  fruit  away  from  me; 
And  then  with  throes  of  bitter  pain 

Rebellious     passions     rise     and 

swell ; 

But  — •  life  is  more  than  fruit  or 
grain, 

And  so  I  sing,  and  all  is  well. 

RETORT 

"  THOU  art  a  fool,"  said  my  head 
to  my  heart, 

"  Indeed,  the  greatest  of  fools  thou 

art, 

To  be  led  astray  by  the  trick  of 
a  tress, 

By    a   smiling    face    or    a    ribbon 

smart ; " 

And  my  heart  was  in  sore  dis- 
tress. 

Then  Phyllis  came  by,  and  her  face 

was  fair, 
The    light    gleamed    soft    on    her 

raven  hair; 
And  her  lips  were  blooming  a 

rosy  red. 


Then  my  heart  spoke  out  with  a 

right  bold  air: 

"  Thou  art  worse  than  a  fool,  O 
head!" 

ACCOUNTABILITY 

FOLKS  ain't  got  no  right  to  cen- 
suah  othah  folks  about  dey 
habits ; 

Him  dat  giv'  de  squir'ls  de  bush- 
tails  made  de  bobtails  fu'  de 
rabbits. 

Him  dat  built  de  gread  big  moun- 
tains hollered  out  de  little 
valleys, 

Him  dat  made  de  streets  an'  drive- 
ways wasn't  shamed  to  make 
de  alleys. 

We  is  all  constructed  difFent, 
d'ain't  no  two  of  us  de  same; 

We  cain't  he'p  ouah  likes  an'  dis- 
likes, ef  we'se  bad  we  ain't  to 
blame. 

Ef  we  'se  good,  we  need  n't  show 
off,  case  you  bet  it  ain't  ouah 
doin' 

We  gits  into  su'ttain  channels  dat 
we  jes'  cain't  he'p  pu'suin'. 

But  we  all  fits  into  places  dat  no 

othah  ones  could  fill, 
An'  we  does  the  things  we  has  to, 

big  er  little,  good  er  ill. 
John  cain't  tek  de  place  o'  Henry, 

Su  an'  Sally  ain't  alike; 
Bass  ain't  nuthin'  like  a  suckah, 

chub  ain't  nuthin'  like  a  pike. 

5  ] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

When  you  come  to  think  about  it,  He  raised  her  up  and  whispered, 

how  it 's  all  planned  out  it 's  "  Hope  and  Trust." 
splendid. 

Nuthin's   done   er  evah   happens,  For  her  his  voice,  a  fearless  clarion, 

'dout  hit 's  somefm'  dat  's  in-  rung 

tended;  That  broke  in  warning  on  the 

Don't  keer  whut  you  does,  you  has  ears  of  men . 

to,    an'    hit    sholy    beats    de  For   her   the   strong   bow   of   his 

dickens,  power  he  strung, 

Viney,  go  put  on  de  kittle,  I  got  And  sent  his  arrows  to  the  very 

one  o'  mastah's  chickens.  den 

Where  grim  Oppression  held  his 
bloody  place 

FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 

A  HUSH  is  over  all  the  teeming 

lists,  And  he  was  no  soft-tongued  apolo- 

And   there  is  pause,   a   breath-  gist»* 

space  in  the  strife;  He  spoke  straightforward,  fear- 

A  spirit  brave  has  passed  beyond  lessly  uncowed; 

the  mists  Tne  sunlight  of  his  truth  dispelled 

And  vapors  that  obscure  the  sun  tne  mist> 

of  life.  And  set  in  bold  relief  each  dark 

And  Ethiopia,  with  bosom  torn,  hued  cloud; 

Laments   the   passing  of   her   no-  To  sm  an(J  crime  he  gave  their 

blest  born.  proper  hue, 

And  hurled  at  evil  what  was  evil's 

She    weeps    for    him    a    mother's  ^ue> 

burning   tears  — 

She  loved  him  with  a  mother's  Through   good   and   ill   report  he 

deepest  love.  cleaved  his  way 

He  was  her  champion  thro'  direful  Right  onward,  with  his  face  set 

years,  toward  the  heights, 

And  held  her  weal  all  other  ends  Nor  feared  to  face  the  foeman's 

above.  dread  array, — 

When  Bondage  held  her  bleeding  The  lash  of  scorn,  the  sting  of 

in  the  dust,  petty  spites. 

[  6  ] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

He  dared  the  lightning  in  the  Still  in  the  foremost  rank  he 

lightning's  track,  waged  the  fray; 

And  answered  thunder  with  his  Wrong  lived;  his  occupation  was 

thunder  back.  not  gone. 

He  died  in  action  with  his  armor 

When    men    maligned    him,    and  onj 

their  torrent  wrath 

In  furious  imprecations  o'er  him  _„                ,      ,  .       ,               , 

,     j  We  weep   for  him,  but  we  have 

broke,  1.11-1       i 

TT    .        ,  .              ,       ,     t        .  .  touched  his  hand, 

He  kept  his  counsel  as  he  kept  his  .     ,   ,  ,      ,            .       ,  ,  . 

,  And  felt  the  magic  of  his  pres- 

path;  .  , 

5^n          r     i  •                   e     i  •  ence  mgh, 

1  was  for  his  race,  not  for  him-  r™                     ,       ,               ,          t 

,,  .          .  The  current  that  he  sent  through- 
self  he  spoke.  ,     .      . 
TT    T            i      •               f  i  •    Ti/r  out  tne  land, 
He  knew  the  import  of  his  Mas-  ^u    .  .  jr          .  .      ,1-1      , 

,       n  I  he  kindling  spirit  of  his  battle- 
ter  s  call, 

cry. 

And  felt  himself  too  mighty  to  be  ,-,,        n    /  .  ,    ,,                 ,    n 

6    J  O  er  all  that  holds  us  we  shall  tn- 

small.  i 

umph  yet, 

No  miser  in  the  good  he  held  was  And  plfe  °ur  banne,r  where  h!s 

i  hopes  were  set! 
ne, 

His  kindness  followed  his  hori- 
zon's rim.  On>    Douglass,    thou    hast   passed 
His    heart,    his    talents,    and    his  beyond  the  shore, 

hands  were  free  But  sti11  thF  voice  is  ringing  o'er 

To  all  who  truly  needed  aught  the  Sale- 

of  him.  Thou  'st  taught  thy  race  how  high 

Where     poverty     and     ignorance  her  h°Pes  may  soar' 

were  rife,  -^n^  ^a(^e  ner  see^  tne  heights, 

He  gave  his  bounty  as  he  gave  his  nor  faint>  nor  fail- 

lffe>  She  will   not   fail,   she  heeds  thy 

stirring  cry, 

The    place    and    cause    that    first  She  knows  thy  guardian  spirit  will 

aroused  his  might  be  nigh, 

Still  proved  its  power  until  his  And,     rising     from     beneath     the 

latest  day.  chast'ning  rod, 

In  Freedom's  lists  and  for  the  aid  She    stretches    out    her    bleeding 

of  Right  hands  to  God! 


I  7  ] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


LIFE 

A  CRUST  of  bread  and  a  corner  to 

sleep  in, 
A  minute  to  smile  and  an  hour  to 

weep  in, 

A  pint  of  joy  to  a  peck  of  trouble, 
And  never  a  laugh  but  the  moans 

come  double; 

And  that  is  life ! 

A   crust  and   a  corner   that  love 

makes  precious, 
With   a  smile  to  warm   and   the 

tears  to  refresh  us; 
And  joy  seems  sweeter  when  cares 

come  after, 
And  a  moan  is  the  finest  of  foils 

for  laughter; 

And  that  is  life ! 


THE  LESSON 

MY  cot  was  down  by  a  cypress 

grove, 
And  I  sat  by  my  window  the 

whole  night  long, 
And  heard  well  up  from  the  deep 

dark  wood 

A      mocking-bird's      passionate 
song. 

And  I  thought  of  myself  so  sad 

and  lone, 
And  my  life's  cold  winter  that 

knew  no  spring; 
Of  my  mind  so  weary  and  sick  and 

wild, 
Of  my  heart  too  sad  to  sing. 


But  e'en  as  I  listened  the  mock- 
bird's  song, 

A   thought   stole   into  my   sad- 
dened heart, 
And   I   said,   "  I  can   cheer  some 

other  soul 
By  a  carol's  simple  art." 

For    oft    from    the    darkness    of 

hearts  and  lives 
Come  songs  that  brim  with  joy 

and  light, 
As  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  cypress 

grove 

The      mocking-bird      sings      at 
night. 

So  I  sang  a  lay  for  a  brother's  ear 
In  a  strain  to  soothe  his  bleed- 
ing heart, 
And  he  smiled  at  the  sound  of  my 

voice  and  lyre, 
Though  mine  was  a  feeble  art. 

But  at  his  smile  I  smiled  in  turn, 
And  into  my  soul  there  came 
a  ray: 

In  trying  to  soothe  another's  woes 
Mine  own  had  passed  away. 

THE  RISING  OF  THE 
STORM 

THE  lake's  dark  breast 

Is  all  unrest, 
It  heaves  with  a  sob  and  a  sigh. 

Like  a  tremulous  bird, 

From  its  slumber  stirred, 
The  moon  is  a-tilt  in  the  sky. 

8  ] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


From  the  silent  deep 

The  waters  sweep, 
But  faint  on  the  cold  white  stones, 

And  the  wavelets  fly 

With  a  plaintive  cry 
O'er   the   old   earth's  bare,   bleak 
bones. 

And  the  spray  upsprings 

On  its  ghost-white  wings, 
And  tosses  a  kiss  at  the  stars; 

While  a  water-sprite, 

In  sea-pearls  dight, 
Hums  a  sea-hymn's  solemn  bars. 

Far  out  in  the  night, 

On  the  wavering  sight 
I  see  a  dark  hull  loom; 

And  its  light  on  high, 

Like  a  Cyclops'  eye, 
Shines  out  through  the  mist  and 
gloom. 

Now  the  winds  well  up 

From  the  earth's  deep  cup, 
And  fall  on  the  sea  and 'shore, 

And  against  the  pier 

The  waters  rear 
And  break  with  a  sullen  roar. 

Up  comes  the  gale, 

And   the  mist-wrought  veil 
Gives  way  to  the  lightning's  glare, 

And  the  cloud-drifts  fall, 

A  sombre  pall, 
O'er  water,  earth,  and  air. 


The  storm-king  flies, 

His  whip  he  plies, 
And  bellows  down  the  wind. 

The  lightning  rash 

With  blinding  flash 
Comes  pricking  on  behind. 

Rise,  waters,   rise, 

And  taunt  the  skies 
With  your  swift-flitting  form. 

Sweep,  wild  winds,  sweep, 

And  tear  the  deep 
To  atoms  in  the  storm. 

And  the  waters  leapt, 

And  the  wild  winds  swept, 
And  blew  out  the  moon  in  the  sky, 

And  I  laughed  with  glee, 

It  was  joy  to  me 
As  the  storm  went  raging  by! 

SUNSET 

THE  river  sleeps  beneath  the  sky, 
And  clasps  the  shadows  to   its 

breast  ; 
The  crescent  moon  shines  dim  on 

high; 

And  in  the  lately  radiant  west 
The  gold  is  fading  into  gray. 
Now  stills  the  lark  his  festive 

lay, 

And    mourns    with    me    the 
dying  day. 

While  in  the  south  the  first  faint 

star 
Lifts  to  the  night  its  silver  face, 

9  ] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And  twinkles  to  the  moon  afar 
Across     the     heaven's     graying 

space, 
Low  murmurs  reach  me  from  the 

town, 

As  Day  puts  on  her  sombre  crown, 
And    shakes    her    mantle    darkly 

down. 


THE  OLD   APPLE-TREE 

THERE  's  a  memory  keeps  a-run- 
nin* 

Through    my    weary    head    to- 
night, 
An*  I  see  a  picture  dancin' 

In  the  fire-flames'  ruddy  light; 
'Tis  the  picture  of  an  orchard 

Wrapped    in    autumn's    purple 

haze, 
With  the  tender  light  about  it 

That  I  loved  in  other  days. 
An'  a-standin'  in  a  corner 

Once  again  I  seem  to  see 
The  verdant  leaves  an'  branches 

Of  an  old  apple-tree. 

You  perhaps  would  call  it  ugly, 

An*  I  don't  know  but  it 's  so, 
When  you  look  the  tree  all  over 

Unadorned  by  memory's  glow; 
For    its    boughs   are    gnarled    an' 
crooked, 

An'  its  leaves  are  gettin'  thin, 
An'  the  apples  of  its  bearin' 

Would  n't  fill  so  large  a  bin 


As  they  used  to.  But  I  tell  you, 
When  it  comes  to  pleasin'  me, 

It 's  the  dearest  in  the  orchard, — 
Is  that  old  apple-tree. 

I  would  hide  within  its  shelter, 

Settlin'  in  some  cosy  nook, 
Where  no  calls  nor  threats  could 
stir  me 

From  the  pages  o'  my  book. 
Oh,  that  quiet,  sweet  seclusion 

In  its  fulness  passeth  words! 
It  was  deeper  than  the  deepest 

That  my  sanctum  now  affords. 
Why,  the  jaybirds  an'  the  robins, 

They  was  hand   in  glove  with 

me, 
As  they  winked  at  me  an'  warbled 

In  that  old  apple-tree. 

It  was  on  its  sturdy  branches 

That  in  summers  long  ago 
I  would  tie  my  swing  an'  dangle 

In  contentment  to  an'  fro, 
Idly  dreamin'  childish  fancies, 

Buildin'  castles  in  the  air, 
Makin'  o'  myself  a  hero 

Of  romances  rich  an'  rare. 
I  kin  shet  my  eyes  an'  see  it 

Jest  as  plain  as  plain  kin  be, 
That  same  old  swing  a-danglin' 

To  the  old  apple-tree. 

There  's  a  rustic  seat  beneath  it 
That  I  never  kin  forget. 

It 's    the    place    where    me    an' 

Hallie  — 
Little  sweetheart — used  to  set, 


[10] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


When  we  'd  wander  to  the  orchard 
So  's  no  listenin'  ones  could  hear 
As   I  whispered  sugared  nonsense 

Into  her  little  willin'  ear. 
Now  my  gray  old  wife  is  Hallie, 

An'  I  'm  grayer  still  than  she, 
But  I  '11  not  forget  our  courtin' 

'Neath  the  old  apple-tree. 

Life  for  us  ain't  all  been  summer, 

But  I  guess  we  've  had  our  share 
Of  its  flittin'  joys  an'  pleasures, 

An'  a  sprinklin'  of  its  care. 
Oft  the  skies  have  smiled  upon  us; 

Then    again    we  Ve    seen    'em 

frown, 

Though    our   load    was   ne'er   so 
heavy 

That  we  longed  to  lay  it  down. 
But     when      death     does     come 
a-callin', 

This  my  last  request  shall  be, — 
That  they  '11  bury  me  an'  Hallie 

'Neath  the  old  apple  tree. 


A  PRAYER 

O  LORD,  the  hard-won  miles 
Have  worn  my  stumbling  feet: 

Oh,  soothe  me  with  thy  smiles, 
And  make  my  life  complete. 

The  thorns  were  thick  and  keen 
Where'er  I  trembling  trod; 

The  way  was  long  between 
My  wounded  feet  and  God. 


Where  healing  waters  flow 
Do  thou  my  footsteps  lead. 

My  heart  is  aching  so; 
Thy  gracious  balm  I  need. 


PASSION  AND  LOVE 

A  MAIDEN  wept  and,  as  a  com- 
forter, 

Came  one  who  cried,  "  I  love 
thee,"  and  he  seized 

Her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
with  hot  breath, 

TTiat  dried  the  tears  upon  her 
flaming  cheeks. 

While  evermore  his  boldly  blaz- 
ing eye 

Burned  into  hers;  but  she  uncom- 
forted 

Shrank  from  his  arms  and  only 
wept  the  more. 

Then  one  came  and  gazed  mutely 

in  her  face 
With  wide  and  wistful  eyes;  but 

still  aloof 

He  held  himself;  as  with  a  rev- 
erent fear, 
As   one   who   knows  some   sacred 

presence  nigh. 
And  as  she  wept  he  mingled  tear 

with  tear, 
That  cheered  her  soul  like  dew  a 

dusty  flower, — 
Until  she  smiled,  approached,  and 

touched  his  hand! 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


THE  SEEDLING 

As  a  quiet  little  seedling 

Lay  within  its  darksome  bed, 

To  itself  it  fell  a-talking, 
And  this  is  what  it  said: 

"I  am  not  so  very  robust, 
But  I'll  do  the  best  I  can;" 

And     the     seedling     from     that 

moment 
Its  work  of  life  began. 

So  it  pushed  a  little  leaflet 
Up  into  the  light  of  day, 

To  examine  the  surroundings 
And  show  the  rest  the  way. 

The  leaflet  liked  the  prospect, 
So  it  called  its  brother,  Stem; 

Then  two  other  leaflets  heard  it, 
And   quickly  followed   therm 

To  be  sure,  the  haste  and  hurry 
Made   the   seedling   sweat    and 
pant; 

But  almost  before  it  knew  it 
It  found  itself  a  plant. 

The  sunshine  poured  upon  it, 
And    the    clouds    they    gave    a 
shower ; 

And  the  little  plant  kept  growing 
Till  it  found  itself  a  flower. 

Little  folks,  be  like  the  seedling, 
Always  do  the  best  you  can; 

Every     child     must     share     life's 

labor 
Just  as  well  as  every  man. 


And    the    sun    and    showers   will 

help  you 

Through"   the   lonesome,    strug- 
gling hours, 

Till  you  raise  to  light  and  beauty 
Virtue's   fair,   unfading  flowers. 


PROMISE 

I  GREW   a  rose  within   a  garden 

fair, 
And,   tending  it  with   more  than 

loving  care, 
I  thought  how,  with  the  glory  of 

its  bloom, 
I  should  the  darkness  of  my  life 

illume ; 
And,  watching,  ever  smiled  to  see 

the  lusty  bud 
Drink  freely  in  the  summer  sun  to 

tinct  its  blood. 

My  rose  began   to  open,   and   its 

hue 
Was  sweet  to  me  as  to  it  sun  and 

dew; 
I  watched  it  taking  on  its  ruddy 

flame 
Until  the  day  of  perfect  blooming 

came, 
Then  hasted  I  with  smiles  to  find 

it  blushing  red — 
Too  late!     Some  thoughtless  child 

had  plucked  my  rose  and  fled ! 


[12] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

FULFILMENT.  Lily  to  lily, 

Rose  unto  rose; 
I  GREW  a  rose  once  more  to  please          My  loye  to  thy  loye 

mine   eyes.  Tenderly  grows. 

All  things  to  aioMt  —  dew,  sun,  Rend  not  the  oak  and  the  iyy  In 

wind,  fair  skies —  twain 

Were    kindly;    and    to    shield    it  Nor    the    swar't    maid    from    her 


from   despoil, 
I  fenced  it  safely  in  with  grateful 

toil. 
No   other   hand    than   mine   shall 

pluck  this  flower,  said  I, 
And  I  was  jealous  of  the  bee  that 

hovered  nigh. 
It   grew   for  days;   I   stood  hour 

after  hour 
To  watch  the  slow  unfolding  of 

the  flower, 
And  then  I  did  not  leave  its  side 

at  all, 
Lest    some    mischance    my    flower 

should  befall. 
At  last,  oh  joy!  the  central  petals 

burst  apart. 
It  blossomed — but,  alas!  a  worm 

was  at  its  heart! 


SONG 

MY  heart  to  thy  heart, 

My  hand  to  thine; 
My  lip   to  thy  lips, 

Kisses  are  wine 
Brewed  for  the  lover  in  sunshine 

and  shade; 

Let    me    drink    deep,    then,    my 
African    maid. 


swarthier   swain. 


AN   ANTE-BELLUM    SER- 
MON 

WE     is      gathahed     hyeah,     my 

brothahs, 

In  dis  howlin'  wildaness, 
Fu'  to  speak  some  words  of  com- 

fo't 

To  each  othah  in  distress. 
An'  we  chooses  fu'  ouah  subjic* 
Dis  —  we  '11    'splain   it   by   an' 

by; 
"  An'   de   Lawd   said,    *  Moses, 

Moses/ 

An'   de  man   said,   '  Hyeah  am 
I.'" 

Now  ole  Pher'oh,  down  in  Egypt, 

Was  de  wuss  man  evah  bo'n, 
An'  he  had  de  Hebrew  chillun 

Down  dah  wukin'  in  his  co'n; 
JT  well  de  Lawd  got  tiahed  o'  his 

foolin', 
An'    sez    he:    "I'll    let    him 

know  — 
Look     hyeah,     Moses,      go     tell 

Pher'oh 
Fu'  to  let  dem  chillun  go." 


[13] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


"An'  ef  he  refuse  to  do  it, 

I  will  make  him  rue  de  houah, 
Fu'  I  '11  empty  down  on  Egypt 

All  de  vials  of  my  powah." 
Yes,  he  did  —  an'  Pher'oh's  ahmy 

Was  n't  wuth  a  ha'f  a  dime ; 
Fu'  de  Lawd  will  he'p  his  chillun, 

You  kin  trust  him  evah  time. 

An'  yo'  enemies  may  'sail  you 

In  de  back  an'  in  de  front; 
But  de  Lawd  is  all  aroun'  you, 

Fu'  to  ba'  de  battle's  brunt. 
Dey    kin    fo'ge    yo'     chains    an* 
shackles 

F'om  de  mountains  to  de  sea; 
But    de    Lawd    will    sen'    some 
Moses 

Fu'  to  set  his  chillun  free. 

An'  de  Ian'  shall  hyeah  his  thun- 
dah, 

Lak  a  bias'  f'om  Gab'ePs  ho'n, 
Fu'  de  Lawd  of  hosts  is  mighty 

When  he  girds  his  ahmor  on. 
But   fu'    feah   some  one  mistakes 
me, 

I  will  pause  right  hyeah  to  say, 
Dat  I  'm  still  a-preachin'  ancient, 

I  ain't  talkin'  'bout  to-day. 

But  I  tell  you,  fellah  christuns, 
Things  '11        happen        mighty 

strange ; 

Now,  de  Lawd  done  dis  fu'  Isrul, 
An'     his     ways     don't     nevah 
change, 


An'  de  love  he  showed  to  Isrul 
Was  n't  all  on  Isrul  spent ; 

Now  don't  run  an'  tell  yo'  mas- 

tahs 
Dat  I  's  preachin'  discontent. 

'Cause  I  isn't;  I 'se  a-judgin' 

Bible  people  by  deir  ac's; 
I  'se  a-givin'  you  de  Scriptuah, 

I  'se  a-handin'  you  de  fac's. 
Cose     ole     Pher'oh     b'lieved     in 
slav'ry, 

But  de  Lawd  he  let  him  see, 
Dat  de  people  he  put  bref  in, — 

Evah  mothah's  son  was  free. 

An'      dahs     othahs     thinks     lak 
Pher'oh, 

But  dey  calls  de  Scriptuah  liar, 
Fu'  de  Bible  says  "  a  servant 

Is  a-worthy  of  his  hire." 
An'  you  cain't  git  roun'  nor  thoo 
dat, 

An'  you  cain't  git  ovah  it, 
Fu'  whatevah  place  you  git  in, 

Dis  hyeah  Bible  too  '11  fit. 

So  you  see  de  Lawd's  intention, 

Evah  sence  de  worl'  began, 
Was  dat  His  almighty  freedom 

Should  belong  to  evah  man, 
But  I  think  it  would  be  bettah, 

Ef  I  'd  pause  agin  to  say, 
Dat  I  'm  talkin'  'bout  ouah  free- 
dom 

In  a  Bibleistic  way. 


But  de  Moses  is  a-comin', 

An'  he  's  comin',  suah  and  fas' 


[14] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


We  kin  hyeah  his  feet  a-trompin', 
We  kin  hyeah  his  trumpit  bias'. 

But  I  want  to  wa'n  you  people, 
Don't  you  git  too  brigity; 

An'  don't  you  git  to  braggin' 
'Bout  dese  things,  you  wait  an' 
see. 

But  when  Moses  wif  his  powah 

Comes  an'  sets  us  chillun  free, 
We  will  praise  de  gracious  Mastah 

Dat  has  gin  us  liberty; 
An'  we  11  shout  ouah  halleluyahs, 

On  dat  mighty  reck'nin'  day, 
When  we  'se  reco'nised  ez  citiz' — 

Huh  uh!     Chillun,  let  us  pray! 


ODE  TO  ETHIOPIA 

0  MOTHER    RACE!    to    thee    I 

bring 

This  pledge  of  faith  unwavering, 
This  tribute  to  thy  glory. 

1  know    the    pangs    which    thou 

didst  feel, 
When  Slavery  crushed  thee  with 

its  heel, 
With  thy  dear  blood  all  gory. 

Sad    days    were    those  —  ah,    sad 

indeed! 
But  through  the  land  the  fruitful 

seed 

Of  better  times  was  growing. 
The    plant    of    freedom    upward 

sprung, 


And  spread  its  leaves  so  fresh  and 

young  — 
.  Its  blossoms  now  are  blowing. 

On  every  hand  in  this  fair  land, 
Proud  Ethiope's  swarthy  children 

stand 

Beside   their   fairer  neighbor; 
The  forests  flee  before  their  stroke, 
Their  hammers  ring,  their  forges 

smoke, — 
They  stir  in  honest  labour. 

They     tread     the     fields     where 

honour  calls; 

Their  voices  sound   through   sen- 
ate halls 

In  majesty  and  power. 
To  right  they   cling;   the  hymns 

they  sing 

Up  to  the  skies  in  beauty  ring, 
And  bolder  grow  each  hour. 

Be  proud,  my  Race,  in  mind  and 

soul  ; 
Thy  name  is  writ  on  Glory's  scroll 

In  characters  of  fire. 
High  'mid  the  clouds  of  Fame's 

bright  sky 
Thy  banner's  blazoned  folds  now 

fly, 

And     truth     shall     lift     them 
higher. 

Thou  hast  the  right  to  noble  pride, 
Whose  spotless  robes  were  purified 

By  blood's  severe  baptism. 
Upon  thy  brow  the  cross  was  laid, 

5] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And   labour's  painful  sweat-beads 

made 
A  consecrating  chrism. 

No  other  race,  or  white  or  black, 
When  bound  as  thou  wert,  to  the 

rack, 

So  seldom  stooped  to  grieving; 
No  other  race,  when  free  again, 
Forgot  the  past  and  proved  them 

men 
So  noble  in  forgiving. 

Go  on   and  up!     Our  souls  and 

eyes 
Shall  follow  thy  continuous  rise; 

Our  ears  shall  list  thy  story 
From   bards   who   from    thy   root 

shall  spring, 
And   proudly   tune  their  lyres  to 

sing 
Of  Ethiopia's  glory. 


THE  CORN-STALK  FIDDLE 

WHEN  the  corn  's  all  cut  and  the 

bright  stalks  shine 
Like  the  burnished  spears  of  a 
field  of  gold; 

When  the  field-mice  rich  on  the 

nubbins  dine, 

And  the  frost  comes  white  and 
the  wind  blows  cold; 

Then  it 's  heigho !  fellows  and  h*- 
diddle-diddle, 

For  the  time  is  ripe  for  the  corn- 
stalk fiddle. 


And    you    take    a    stalk    that    is 

straight  and  long, 
With     an     expert    eye     to     its 
worthy  points, 

And   you   think   of   the   bubbling 

strains  of  song 

That    are    bound    between    its 
pithy  joints  — 

Then  you  cut  out  strings,  with  a 
bridge  in  the  middle, 

With  a  corn-stalk  bow  for  a  corn- 
stalk fiddle. 

Then  the  strains  that  grow  as  you 

draw  the  bow 

O'er  the  yielding   strings  with 
a  practised  hand! 

And  the  music's  flow  never  loud 

but  low 

Is  the  concert  note  of  a  fairy 
band. 

Oh,  your  dainty  songs  are  a  misty 
riddle 

To  the  simple  sweets  of  the  corn- 
stalk fiddle. 

When  the  eve  comes  on,  and  our 

work  is  done, 

And  the  sun  drops  down  with  a 
tender  glance, 

With   their  hearts   all   prime    for 

the  harmless  fun, 
Come    the    neighbor    girls    for 
the  evening's  dance, 

And  they  wait  for  the  well- 
known  twist  and  twid- 
dle— 


i6] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

More  time  than  tune  —  from  the      To   the   screech   and  scrape  of   a 
corn-stalk  fiddle.  corn-stalk   fiddle. 


w,,M«  THE  MASTER-PLAYER 

Whue  Ned  stands  off  with  Su- 

san Bland,  AN  old,  worn  harp  that  had  been 
Then  Henry  stops  by  Milly  Snow,  played 

And  John  takes  Nellie  Jones's  Till  all  its  strings  were  loose  and 

nand>  frayed, 

While    I    pair    off   with    Mandy  Joy,    Hate,    and    Fear,    each    one 

Biddle,  essayed, 

And    scrape,    scrape,    scrape    goes  To  play.     But  each  in  turn  had 
the  corn-stalk  fiddle.  found 

No  sweet  responsiveness  of  sound. 

"  Salute  your  partners,"  comes  the 

call  Then     Love     the     Master-Player 

"All    join    hands     and     circle  came> 

round  "  With    heaving    breast    and    eyes 

"Grand   train  back,"   and   "  Bal-  aflame5 

ance  all  "  ^e  Harp  he  took  all  undismayed, 

Footsteps     lightly     spurn     the  Smote  on  its  strings,  still  strange 

ground.  to  song> 

"Take    your    lady    and    balance  And    brought    forth   music   sweet 

down  the  middle  "  and  stronS- 

To  the  merry  strains  of  the  corn- 

||      stalkfiddle'  I  THE  MYSTERY      f| 

So  the  night  goes  on  and  the  dance  I   WAS  not  ;  now   I   am  —  a  few 

is  o'er,  days  hence 

And  the  merry  girls  are  home-  I  shall  not  be;  I  fain  would  look 

ward  gone,  before 

But  I  see  it  all  in  my  sleep  once  And    after,    but   can    neither   do; 

more,  some  Power 

And  I  dream  till  the  very  break  Or  lack  of  power  says  "  no  "  to  all 

of  dawn  I  would. 

Of  an  impish  dance  on  a  red-hot  I  stand  upon  a  wide  and  sunless 

griddle  plain, 

[17] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Nor  chart  nor  steel  to  guide  my  Are  heroes;  they  who  higher  fare, 

steps  aright.  And,  flying,  fan  the  upper  air, 

Whene'er,  o'ercoming  fear,  I  dare  Miss  all  the  toil  that  hugs  the  sod. 

to  move,  'Tis  they  whose  backs   have   felt 

I  grope  without  direction  and  by  the  rod, 

chance.  Whose  feet  have  pressed  the  path 

Some  feign   to  hear  a  voice  and  unshod, 

feel  a  hand  May  smile  upon  defeated  care, 

That    draws    them    ever    upward  Not  they  who  soar. 

thro'  the  gloom. 

But  I  —  I  hear  no  voice  and  touch  High  up  there  are  no  thorns  to 

no  hand,  Prod> 

Tho'   oft   thro'   silence   infinite   I  Nor  boulders  lurking   'neath   the 

list,  cl°d 

And  strain  my  hearing  to  supernal  To  turn  the  keenness  of  the  share, 

sounds;  For  flight  is  ever  free  and   rare; 

Tho'  oft  thro'  fateful  darkness  do  But  heroes  they  the  soil  who  Ve 

I  reach,  trod, 

And  stretch  my  hand  to  find  that  Not  they  who  soar! 

other  hand. 
I  question  of  th'  eternal  bending 

skies  WHITTIER 
That  seem  to  neighbor  with  the 

novice  earth;  NOT   o'er   thy   dust   let   there   be 

But  they  roll  on,  and  daily  shut  sP€nt 

their  eyes  ^e  £usn  °^  mau(^^n  sentiment; 

On  me,  as  I  one  day  shall  do  on  Such  drHt  as  that  !s  not  for  thee> 

tjiem  Whose  life   and   deeds  and  songs 

And  tell  me  not  the  secret  that  I  agree, 

Sublime  in  their  simplicity. 


Nor  shall  the  sorrowing  tear  be 

NOT  THEY  WHO  SOAR  shed- 

O    singer    sweet,    thou    art    not 

NOT  they  who  soar,  but  they  who  dead! 

plod  In  spite  of  time's  malignant  chill, 

Their   rugged  way,   unhelped,   to     With   living  fire   thy  songs   shall 

God  thrill, 

[18] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And   men   shall  say,   "  He  liveth 
still!" 

Great  poets  never  die,  for  Earth 
Doth  count  their  lives  of  too  great 

worth 
To  lose  them  from  her  treasured 

store ; 

So  shalt  thou  live  for  evermore  — 
Though  far  thy  form  from  mortal 

ken  — 
Deep  in  the  hearts  and  minds  of 

men. 

TWO  SONGS 

A    BEE    that    was    searching    for 
sweets  one  day 

Through  the  gate  of  a  rose  garden 
happened  to  stray. 

In  the  heart  of  a  rose  he  hid  away, 

And  forgot  in  his  bliss  the  light  of 
day, 

As  sipping  his  honey  he  buzzed  in 
song; 

Though  day  was  waning,  he  lin- 
gered long, 

For    the    rose    was    sweet,    so 
sweet. 


She  hangs  on  his  words  with   a 

thrill  of  love, 

And  chirps  to  him  as  he  sits  above 
For  the  song  is  sweet,  so  sweet. 

A  maiden  was  out  on  a  summer's 
day 

With   the   winds   and   the   waves 
and  the  flowers  at  play; 

And    she    met   with    a   youth    of 
gentle  air, 

With  the  light  of  the  sunshine  on 
his  hair. 

Together  they  wandered  the  flow- 
ers among; 

They  loved,  and  loving  they  lin- 
gered long, 
For  to  love  is  sweet,  so  sweet. 


BIRD  of  my  lady's  bower, 

Sing  her  a  song; 
Tell  her  that  every  hour, 

All  the  day  long, 
Thoughts  of  her  come  to  me, 

Filling  my  brain 
With  the  warm  ecstasy 

Of  love's  refrain. 


A   robin    sits   pluming   his    ruddy 

breast, 
And  a  madrigal  sings  to  his  love 

in  her  nest: 
"  Oh,  the  skies  they  are  blue,  the 

fields  are  green, 
And   the  birds  in  your  nest  will 

soon  be  seen !  " 

[19] 


Little  bird!  happy  bird! 

Being  so  near, 
Where  e'en  her  slightest  word 

Thou  mayest  hear, 
Seeing  her  glancing  eyes, 

Sheen  of  her  hair, 
Thou  art  in  paradise, — 

Would  I  were  there. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I  am  so  far  away, 

Thou  art  so  near; 
Plead  with  her,  birdling  gay, 
Plead  with  my  dear. 
Rich  be  thy  recompense, 

Fine  be  thy  fee, 
If  through  thine  eloquence 

She  hearken  me. 


A  BANJO  SONG 

OH,  dere  's  lots  o'  keer  an'  trouble 

In  dis  world  to  swaller  down; 
An'  ol'  Sorrer  's  purty  lively 

In  her  way  o'  gittin'  roun'. 
Yet   dere 's   times  when   I   furgit 
em, — 

Aches    an'    pains    an'    troubles 

all,- 
An'  it 's  when  I  tek  at  ebenin* 

My  oF  banjo  f'om  de  wall. 

'Bout  de  time  dat  night  is  fallin' 

An'  my  daily  wu'k  is  done, 
An*  above  de  shady  hilltops 

I  kin  see  de  settin'  sun; 
When  de  quiet,  restful  shadders 

Is  beginnin'  jes'  to  fall, — 
Den  I  take  de  little  banjo 

F'om  its  place  upon  de  wall. 

Den  my  fam'ly  gadders  roun'  me 
In  de  fadin'  o'  de  light, 

Ez  I  strike  de  strings  to  try  'em 
Ef  dey  all  is  tuned  er-right. 

An'  it  seems  we  're  so  nigh  heaben 
We  kin  hyeah  de  angels  sing 


When  de  music  o'  dat  banjo 
Sets  my  cabin  all  er-ring. 

An'  my  wife  an'  all  de  othahs, — 

Male    an'    female,    small    an' 

big, — 
Even  up  to  gray-haired  granny, 

Seem  jes'  boun'  to  do  a  jig; 
'Twell  I  change  de  style  o'  music, 

Change    de    movement    an'    de 

time, 
An'  de  ringin'  little  banjo 

Plays  an  oF  hea't-feelin'  hime. 

An'  somehow  my  th'oat  gits  choky, 

An'  a  lump  keeps  tryin'  to  rise 
Lak  it  wan'ed  to  ketch  de  water 

Dat  was  flowin'  to  my  eyes ; 
An'  I  feel  dat  I  could  sorter 

Knock  de  socks  clean  off  o'  sin 
Ez  I  hyeah  my  po'  ol'  granny 

Wif  huh  tremblin'  voice  jine  in. 

Den  we  all  th'ow  in  our  voices 

Fu'  to  he'p  de  chune  out  too, 
Lak  a  big  camp-meetin'  choiry 

Tryin'  to  sing  a  mou'nah  th'oo. 
An'  our  th'oahts  let  out  de  music, 

Sweet  an'  solemn,  loud  an'  free, 
'Twell  de  raftahs  o'  my  cabin 

Echo  wif  de  melody. 

Oh,  de  music  o'  de  banjo, 

Quick     an'     deb'lish,     solemn, 

slow, 
Is  de  greates'  joy  an'  solace 

Dat  a  weary  slave  kin  know! 
20  ] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


So  jes'  let  me  hyeah  it  ringin', 
Dough    de    chime    be    po'    an' 
rough, 

It 's  a  pleasure ;  an'  de  pleasures 
O'  dis  life  is  few  enough. 

Now,  de  blessed  little  angels 

Up  in  heaben,  we  are  told< 
Don't  do  nothin'  all  dere  lifetime 

'Ceptin'  play  on  ha'ps  o'  gold. 
Now    I    think    heaben  'd    be   mo' 
homelike 

Ef  we  'd  hyeah  some  music  fall 
F'om    a   real   ol'-fashioned   banjo, 

Like  dat  one  upon  de  wall. 

LONGING 

IF  you  could  sit  with  me  beside 
the  sea  to-day, 

And  whisper  with  me  sweetest 
dreamings  o'er  and  o'er; 

I  think  I  should  not  find  the 
clouds  so  dim  and  gray, 

And  not  so  loud  the  waves  com- 
plaining at  the  shore. 

If  you  could  sit  with  me  upon  the 

shore  to-day, 
And  hold  my  hand  in  yours  as  in 

the  days  of  old, 
I  think  I  should  not  mind  the  chill 

baptismal  spray, 
Nor  find  my  hand  and  heart  and 

all  the  world  so  cold. 

If  you  could  walk  with  me  upon 
the  strand  to-day, 


And  tell  me  that  my  longing  love 
had  won  your  own, 

I  think  all  my  sad  thoughts  would 
then  be  put  away, 

And  I  could  give  back  laughter 
for  the  Ocean's  moan! 


THE  PATH 

THERE    are   no   beaten    paths   to 

Glory's  height, 
There    are    no    rules    to    compass 

greatness   known ; 
Each    for   himself   must   cleave    a 

path  alone, 
And  press  his  own  way  forward 

in  the  fight. 
Smooth   is   the   way  to   ease   and 

calm  delight, 
And  soft  the  road  Sloth  chooseth 

for  her  own; 
But  he  who  craves  the  flower  of 

life  full-blown, 
Must  struggle  up  in  all  his  armor 

dight ! 
What  though  the  burden  bear  him 

sorely  down 
And  crush  to  dust  the  mountain 

of  his  pride, 
Oh,   then,    with   strong  heart   let 

him  still  abide; 
For    rugged    is    the    roadway    to 

renown, 

Nor  may  he  hope  to  gain  the  en- 
vied crown, 
Till  he  hath   thrust  the  looming 

rocks   aside. 
21] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


THE  LAWYERS'  WAYS 

I  VE  been  list'nin'  to  them  lawyers 

In  the  court  house  up  the  street, 
An'  I  Ve  come  to  the  conclusion 

That  I'm  most  completely  beat. 
Fust  one  feller  riz  to  argy, 

An'  he  boldly  waded  in 
As  he  dressed  the  tremblin'  pris'ner 

In  a  coat  o'  deep-dyed  sin. 

Why,  he  painted  him  all  over 

In  a  hue  o'  blackest  crime, 
An'  he  smeared  his  reputation 

With     the     thickest     kind     o' 

1  grime, 
Tell  I  found  myself  a-wond'rin', 

In  a  misty  way  and  dim, 
How  the  Lord  had  come  to  fashion 

Sich  an  awful  man  as  him. 

Then  the  other  lawyer  started, 

An'     with     brimmin',     tearful 

eyes, 
Said  his  client  was  a  martyr 

That  was  brought  to  sacrifice. 
An'  he  give  to  that  same  pris'ner 

Every  blessed  human  grace, 
Tell  I  saw  the  light  o'  virtue 

Fairly  shinin'  from  his  face. 

Then  I  own  'at  I  was  puzzled 
How  sich  things  could  rightly 

be; 
An'  this  aggervatin'  question 

Seems  to  keep  a-puzzlin'  me. 
So,   will  some  one  please  inform 

me, 
An'  this  mystery  unroll  — 


How  an  angel  an'  a  devil 

Can  persess  the  self-same  soul? 

ODE  FOR  MEMORIAL  DAY 

DONE  are  the  toils  and  the  weari- 
some marches, 
Done  is  the  summons  of  bugle 

and  drum. 

Softly  and  sweetly  the  sky  over- 
arches, 

Shelt'ring  a  land  where  Rebel- 
lion is  dumb. 

Dark  were  the  days  of  the  coun- 
try's derangement, 
Sad  were   the  hours  when  the 

conflict  was  on, 

But  through  the  gloom  of  frater- 
nal estrangement 
God  sent  his  light,  and  we  wel- 
come the  dawn. 
O'er  the   expanse   of  our   mighty 

dominions, 
Sweeping  away  to  the  uttermost 

parts, 
Peace,  the  wide-flying,  on  untiring 

pinions, 

Bringeth  her  message  of  joy  to 
our  hearts. 

Ah,  but  this  joy  which  our  minds 

cannot  measure, 
What  did  it  cost  for  our  fathers 

to  gain! 
Bought  at  the  price  of  the  heart's 

dearest  treasure, 
Born  out  of  travail  and  sorrow 
and  pain; 


[12] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Born    in    the    battle    where    fleet 

Death  was  flying, 
Slaying  with  sabre-stroke  bloody 

and  fell; 

Born  where  the  heroes  and  mar- 
tyrs were  dying, 
Torn  by  the  fury  of  bullet  and 

shell. 
Ah,  but  the  day  is  past:  silent  the 

rattle, 
And  the  confusion  that  followed 

the  fight. 
Peace  to  the  heroes  who  died  in 

the  battle, 

Martyrs  to  truth  and  the  crown- 
ing of  Right! 

Out  of  the  blood  of  a  conflict  fra- 
ternal, 
Out  of  the  dust  and  the  dimness 

of  death, 

Burst  into  blossoms  of  glory  eter- 
nal 
Flowers  that  sweeten  the  world 

with  their  breath. 
Flowers    of    charity,    peace,    and 

devotion 
Bloom   in    the   hearts   that   are 

empty  of  strife; 
Love  that  is  boundless  and  broad 

as  the  ocean 
Leaps   into   beauty   and   fulness 

of  life. 
So,  with  the  singing  of  paeans  and 

chorals, 

And  with  the  flag  flashing  high 
in  the  sun, 


Place  on  the  graves  of  our  heroes 

the  laurels 

Which   their   unfaltering   valor 
has  won! 


PREMONITION 

DEAR  heart,  good-night! 
Nay,  list  awhile  that  sweet  voice 

singing 

When  the  world  is  all  so  bright, 
And   the   sound  of  song  sets  the 

heart  a-ringing, 
Oh,  love,  it  is  not  right  — 
Not     then     to     say,     "  Good- 
night." 

Dear  heart,  good-night! 
The  late  winds  in  the  lake  weeds 

shiver, 
And   the    spray    flies   cold    and 

white. 
And  the  voice  that  sings  gives  a 

telltale  quiver  — 
"Ah,  yes,   the  world  is  bright, 
But,     dearest     heart,     good- 
night!" 

Dear  heart,  good-night! 
And   do  not  longer  seek  to  hold 

me! 

For  my  soul  is  in  affright 
As   the    fearful    glooms   in    their 

pall  enfold  me. 
See  him  who  sang  how  white 
And    still;    so,    dear,    good- 
night. 


[23] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Dear  heart,  good-night!  When  you  and  I  were  young,  the 

Thy  hand  I  '11  press  no  more  for-  woods 

ever,  Brimmed  bravely  o'er  with  every 

And   mine  eyes  shall   lose   the  joy 

light;  To    charm    the    happy-hearted 

For  the  great  white  wraith  by  the  boy. 

winding  river  The   quail    turned   out  her  timid 

Shall     check     my     steps     with  broods; 

might.  The    prickly    copse,    a    hostess 

So,    dear,    good-night,    good-  fine, 

night!  Held  high  bkck  cups  of  harm- 

less wine; 
And  low  the  laden  grape-vine 

swung: 
RETROSPECTION  with  beads  J  night.kissed  ame. 

WHEN  you  and  I  were  young,  the  yst 

Where  buzzing  lovers  held  their 


Were  filled  with  scent  of  pink  tryst> 

anj  rosCj  When  you  and  I  were  young, 

And  full  of  jo/  from  dawn  till  my  boy' 

close  When  you  and  I  were  young. 

From  morning's  mist  till  evening's 

haze.  When  you  and  I  were  young,  the 

And  when  the  robin  sung  his  cool 

song  And    fresh    wind    fanned    our 

The    verdant    woodland    ways  fevered  brows 

along,  When  tumbling  o'er  the  scented 

We  whistled  louder  than  he  mows, 

sung.  Or    stripping     by     the     dimpling 

And  school  was  joy,  and  work  was  pool, 

sport  Sedge-fringed    about    its    shim- 

For  which  the  hours  were  all  too  mering  face, 

short,  Save  where  we  'd  worn  an  en- 

When  you  and  I  were  young,  t'ring  place. 

my  boy,  How    with    our    shouts    the 

When  you  and  I  were  young.  calm  banks  rung! 

[24] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

How    flashed    the    spray    as    we  The  fleeting  years  had  fled  un- 

plunged  in, —  missed; 

Pure   gems   that   never   caused    a  And  from  our  hearts  this  cry 

sin!  was  wrung  — 

When  you  and  I  were  young,  To  fill  with  fond  regret  and  tears 

my  boy,  The  days  of  our  remaining  years  — 

When  you  and  I  were  young.  "  When  you  and  I  were  young, 

my  boy, 

When  you  and  I  were  young,  we  When  y°u  and  I  were  young." 

heard 

All  sounds  of  Nature  with  de-  UNEXPRESSED 

light,— 

The  whirr  of  wing  in  sudden  DEEP  in  my  heart  that  aches  with 

flight,  the  repression, 

The  chirping  of  the  baby-bird.  And   strives   with   plenitude    of 

The  columbine's  red  bells  were  bitter  pain, 

rung;  There  lives  a  thought  that  clamors 

The     locust's     vested     chorus  for  expression, 

sung;  And     spends     its     undelivered 

While  every  wind  his  zithern  force  in  vain. 

strung 

To  high  and  holy-sounding  keys,  What   boots   k    that   some   other 

And  played  sonatas  in  the  trees—  ™?  have  thought  it? 

When  you  and  I  were  young,  The  rleht  of  thoughts'  expres- 

my  boy,  Slon  »  d;v!ne: 

When  you  and  I  were  young.  The  Prlce  of  Paln  l  ™  for  *  has 

bought  it, 

,xr,  I  care  not  who  lays  claim  to  it 

Wnen  you  and  1  were  young,  we  ,    .             f 

knew 

To   shout   and   laugh,   to   work  And  yet  not  mine  until  it  be  deliv- 

and  play,  ered; 

And  night  was  partner  to  the  The  manner  of  its  birth  shall 

day  prove  the  test. 

In   all   our   joys.     So   swift    time  Alas,    alas,    my   rock   of   pride    is 

flew  shivered  — 

On   silent  wings  that,    ere  we  I  beat  my  brow  —  the  thought 

wist,  still    unexpressed. 
[25] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


SONG  OF  SUMMER 

Dis  is  gospel  weathah  sho' — 

Hills  is  sawt  o'  hazy. 
Meddahs  level  ez  a  flo' 

Callin'  to  de  lazy. 
Sky  all  white  wif  streaks  o'  blue, 

Sunshine   softly   gleamin', 
D'ain't  no  wuk  hit 's  right  to  do, 

Nothin'   's  right  but  dreamin'. 

Dreamin'  by  de  rivah  side 

Wif  de  watahs  glist'nin', 
Feelin'  good  an'  satisfied 

Ez  you  lay  a-list'nin' 
To  the  little  nakid  boys 

Splashin''  in  de  watah, 
Hollerin'  fu'  to  spress  deir  joys 

Jes'  lak  youngsters  ought  to. 

Squirl  a-tippin'  on  his  toes, 

So  's  to  hide  an'  view  you ; 
Whole    flocks    o'    camp-meetin' 
crows 

Shoutin'  hallelujah. 
Peckahwood  erpon  de  tree 

Tappin'  lak  a  hammah; 
Jaybird  chattin'  wif  a  bee, 

Tryin'  to  teach  him  grammah. 

Breeze  is  blowin'  wif  perfume, 

Jes'  enough  to  tease  you; 
Hollyhocks  is  all  in  bloom, 

Smellin'  fu'  to  please  you. 
Go  'way,  folks,  an'  let  me  lone, 

Times  is  gettin'  dearah — 
Summah's  settin'  on  de  th'one, 

An'  I  'm  a-layin'  neah  huh ! 


SPRING  SONG 

A    BLUE-BELL    springs    upon    the 
ledge, 

A  lark  sits  singing  in  the  hedge; 
Sweet  perfumes  scent  the  balmy 

air, 

And  life  is  brimming  everywhere. 
What  lark  and  breeze  and  blue- 
bird sing, 
Is  Spring,  Spring,  Spring! 

No  more  the  air  is  sharp  and  cold ; 
The  planter  wends  across  the  wold, 
And,  glad,  beneath  the  shining 

sky 

We  wander  forth,  my  love  and  I. 

And  ever  in  our  hearts  doth  ring 

This  song  of  Spring,  Spring! 

For  life  is  life  and  love  is  love, 
'Twixt  maid  and  man  or  dove  and 

dove. 
Life  may   be   short,   life   may  be 

long, 
But   love   will   come,    and    to    its 

song 

Shall  this  refrain  for  ever  cling 
Of    Spring,    Spring,    Spring! 

TO  LOUISE 

OH,  the  poets  may  sing  of  their 

Lady  Irenes, 
And    may    rave    in    their    rhymes 

about  wonderful  queens; 
But  I  throw  my  poetical  wings  to 

the  breeze, 


[26] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And  soar  in  a  song  to  my  Lady 

Louise. 
A  sweet  little  maid,  who  is  dearer, 

I  ween, 
Than  any  fair  duchess,  or  even  a 

queen. 
When  speaking  of  her  I  can't  plod 

in  my  prose, 
For  she  's  the  wee  lassie  who  gave 

me  a  rose. 

Since  poets,  from  seeing  a  lady's 

lip  curled, 
Have  written  fair  verse  that  has 

sweetened  the  world ; 
Why,  then,  should  not  I  give  the 

space  of  an  hour 
To  making  a  song  in  return  for  a 

flower? 
I  have  found  in  my  life  —  it  has 

not  been  so  long  — 
There  are  too  few  of  flowers  —  too 

little  of  song. 
So  out  of  that  blossom,  this  lay  of 

mine  grows, 
For  the  dear  little  lady  who  gave 

me  the  rose. 

I  thank  God  for  innocence,  dearer 

than  Art, 
That   lights   on   a  by-way  which 

leads  to  the  heart, 
And   led   by   an    impulse   no   less 

than  divine, 
Walks  into  the  temple  and  sits  at 

the  shrine. 
I  would  rather  pluck  daisies  that 

grow  in  the  wild, 


Or  take  one  simple  rose  from  the 

hand  of  a  child, 
Then  to  breathe  the  rich  fragrance 

of    flowers    that    bide 
In  the  gardens  of  luxury,  passion, 

and  pride. 

I   know   not,    my   wee    one,    how 

came  you  to   know 
Which  way  to  my  heart  was  the 

right  way  to  go; 
Unless  in  your  purity,  soul-clean 

and  clear, 
God    whispers    his    messages    into 

your  ear. 
You  have  now  had  my  song,  let 

me  end  with  a  prayer 
That    your    life    may    be    always 

sweet,  happy,   and   fair; 
That  your  joys  may  be  many,  and 

absent   your   woes, 
O  dear  little  lady  who  gave  me 

the  rose! 


THE  RIVALS 

'TWAS  three  an*  thirty  year  ago, 
When   I  was   ruther   young,   you 

know, 

I  had  my  last  an'  only  fight 
About  a  gal  one  summer  night. 
'Twas    me    an'    Zekel    Johnson; 

Zeke 
'N'    me  'd    be'n    spattin'    'bout    a 

week, 

Each  of  us  tryin'  his  best  to  show 
That  he  was  Liza  Jones's  beau. 


[27] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


We    could  n't    neither    prove    the 

thing, 

Fur  she  was  fur  too  sharp  to  fling 
One  over  fur  the  other  one 
An'  by  so  doin'  stop  the  fun 
That  we   chaps   did  n't  have   the 

sense 

To  see  she  got  at  our  expense, 
But  that 's  the  way  a  feller  does, 
Fur  boys  is  fools  an'  allus  was. 
An'   when   they 's   females  in   the 

game 

I  reckon  men  's  about  the  same. 
Well,  Zeke  an'  me  went  on  that 

way 
An'  fussed  an'  quarrelled  day  by 

day; 
While     Liza,     mindin'     not     the 

fuss, 

Jest  kep'  a-goin'  with  both  of  us, 
Tell  we  pore  chaps,  that 's  Zeke 

an'  me, 

Was   jest    plum   mad   with   jeal- 
ousy. 
Well,    fur   a   time   we   kep'    our 

places, 
An'    only    showed    by    frownin' 

faces 
An'    looks    'at   well   our   meanin' 

boded 
How   full   o'   fight  we  both  was 

loaded. 
At  last  it  come,  the  thing  broke 

out, 

An'  this  is  how  it  come  about. 
One  night  ('twas  fair,  you'll  all 

agree) 


I  got  Eliza's  company, 

An'  leavin'  Zekel  in  the  lurch, 

Went    trottin'    off    with    her    to 

church. 

An'  jest  as  we  had  took  our  seat 
(Eliza  lookin'  fair  an'  sweet), 
Why,  I  jest  could  n't  help  but  grin 
When  Zekel  come  a-bouncin'  in 
As  furious  as  the  law  allows. 
He  'd  jest  be'n  up  to  Liza's  house, 
To  find  her  gone,  then  come  to 

church 
To    have    this    end    put    to    his 

search. 
I     guess    I     laffed    that    meetin' 

through, 

An'   not   a  mortal  word  I   knew 
Of  what  the  preacher  preached  er 

read 

Er  what  the  choir  sung  er  said. 
Fur  every  time  I  'd  turn  my  head 
I  could  n't  skeercely  help  but  see 
'At  Zekel  had  his  eye  on  me. 
An'  he  'ud  sort  o'  turn  an'  twist 
An'  grind  his  teeth  an'  shake  his 

fist. 
I  laughed,  fur  la!  the  hull  church 

seen  us, 

An'  knowed  that  suthin'  was  be- 
tween us. 
Well,    meetin'    out,    we    started 

hum, 

I  sorter  feelin'  what  would  come. 
We  'd    jest    got    out,    when    up 

stepped  Zeke, 
An'  said,  "  Scuse  me,  I  'd  like  to 

speak 


[28] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


To  you  a  minute."     "  Cert,"  said 

I  — 

A-nudgin'   Liza  on   the  sly 
An'   laughin'   in   my   sleeve   with 

glee, 

I  asked  her,  please,  to  pardon  me. 
We  walked  away  a  step  er  two, 
Jest  to  git  out  o'  Liza's  view, 
An'  then  Zeke  said,  "  I  want  to 

know 

Ef  you  think  you  're  Eliza's  beau, 
An'  'at  I  'm  goin'  to  let  her  go 
Hum  with  sich  a  chap  as  you?  " 
An'  I  said  bold,  "  You  bet  I  do." 
Then  Zekel,   sneerin',  said  'at  he 
Did  n't  want  to  hender  me. 
But  then  he  'lowed  the  gal  was 

his 
An'  'at  he  guessed  he  knowed  his 

biz, 

An'  was  n't  feared  o'  all  my  kin 
With    all   my   friends   an'    chums 

throwed  in. 
Some   other   things   he   mentioned 

there 
That  no  born  man  could  no  ways 

bear 

Er  think  o'  ca'mly  tryin'  to  Stan' 
Ef  Zeke  had  be'n  the  bigges'  man 
In  town,  an'  not  the  leanest  runt 
'At  time  an'  labor  ever  stunt. 
An'  so  I  let  my  fist  go  "  him," 
I  thought  I  'd  mos'  nigh  finished 

him. 

But  Zekel  did  n't  take  it  so. 
He  jest  ducked  down  an'  dodged 

my  blow 


An'  then  come  back  at  me  so  hard, 
I  guess  I  must  'a'  hurt  the  yard, 
Er  spilet  the  grass  plot  where  I 

fell, 

An'  sakes  alive  it  hurt  me ;  well, 
It  would  n't  be'n  so  bad,  you  see, 
But  he  jest  kep'  a-hittin'  me. 
An'    I    hit    back    an'    kicked    an' 

pawed, 
But  't  seemed  't  was  mostly  air  I 

clawed, 

While  Zekel  used  his  science  well 
A-makin'  every  motion  tell. 
He  punched   an'   hit,  why,   good- 
ness lands, 

Seemed  like  he  had  a  dozen  hands. 
Well,  afterwhile  they  stopped  the 

fuss, 

An'  some  one  kindly  parted  us. 
All  beat  an'  cuffed  an'  clawed  an' 

scratched, 
An'      needin'      both      our      faces 

patched, 

Each  started  hum  a  different  way; 
An'  what  o'  Liza,  do  you  say, 
Why,     Liza  —  little     humbug  — 

dern  her, 
Why,     she  'd     gone    home     with 

Hiram  Turner. 

THE  LOVER  AND  THE 
MOON 

A  LOVER  whom  duty  called  over 

the  wave, 

With        himself        communed : 
"Will  my  love  be  true 

29] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


If  left  to  herself?     Had  I  bet- 
ter not  sue 

Some   friend   to  watch   over   her, 
good  and  grave? 

But  my  friend  might  fail  in  my 
need,"  he  said, 

"And    I    return    to    find    love 
dead. 

Since  friendships  fade  like  the 
flow'rs  of  June, 

I  will  leave  her  in  charge  of  the 
stable   moon." 

Then  he  said  to  the  moon :     "  O 

dear  old  moon, 
Who  for  years  and  years  from 

thy  thrown  above 
Hast     nurtured     and     guarded 

young  lovers  and  love, 
My    heart   has   but    come    to    its 

waiting  June, 
And   the   promise   time   of   the 

budding  vine; 
Oh,   guard  thee  well  this  love 

of  mine." 
And  he  harked  him  then  while 

all  was  still, 
And   the   pale   moon   answered 

and  said,  "  I  will." 


But   his  star  was  high,   so   he 

braved  the  main, 
And   sailed   him   blithely   home 

again ; 
And    with   joy   he   bended    his 

footsteps  soon 
To  learn  of  his  love  from  the 

matron  moon. 

She  sat  as  of  yore,  in  her  olden 

place, 
Serene   as   death,   in   her   silver 

chair. 
A  white   rose   gleamed    in   her 

whiter  hair, 
And  the  tint  of  a  blush  was  on 

her  face. 
At  sight  of  the  youth  she  sadly 

bowed 

And  hid  her  face  'neath  a  gra- 
cious cloud. 
She  faltered  faint  on  the  night's 

dim  marge, 
But  "  How,"  spoke  the  youth, 

"  have      you      kept      your 
charge?" 


The  moon  was  sad  at  a  trust  ill- 
kept; 

The  blush  went  out  in  her 
blanching  cheek, 

And  her  voice  was  timid  and 
low  and  weak, 


And   he    sailed   in    his   ship    o'er 

many  seas, 
And    he    wandered    wide    o'er 

strange  far  strands: 
In  isles  of  the  south  and  in  Ori-      As  she  made  her  plea  and  sighed 

ent  lands,  and  wept. 

Where    pestilence    lurks    in    the          "  Oh,    another   prayed   and   an- 
breath  of  the  breeze.  other  plead, 

[30] 


PAUL  LAURENCE   DUNBAR 


And    I     could  n't    resist,"    she 

answering  said; 
"  But   love    still   grows   in   the 

hearts  of  men: 
Go  forth,  dear  youth,  and  love 

again." 

But  he  turned  him  away  from  her 

proffered  grace. 
"Thou   art   false,   O   moon,   as 

the  hearts  of  men, 
I  will  not,  will  not  love  again." 
And  he  turned  sheer  'round  with 

a  soul-sick  face 
To  the  sea,  and  cried :     "  Sea, 

curse  the  moon, 
Who  makes  her  vows  and  for- 
gets so  soon." 
And  the  awful  sea  with  anger 

stirred, 
And  his  breast  heaved  hard  as 

he  lay  and  heard. 


To  tear  the  false  moon  from  the 
sky. 


CONSCIENCE  AND  RE- 
MORSE 

"  GOOD-BYE,"   I  said  to   my  con- 
science — 

"  Good-bye  for  aye  and  aye," 
And  I  put  her  hands  off  harshly, 

And  turned  my  face  away; 
And  conscience  smitten  sorely 

Returned  not  from  that  day. 

But  a  time  came  when  my  spirit 
Grew  weary  of  its  pace; 

And    I    cried :   "  Come   back,   my 

conscience ; 
I  long  to  see  thy  face." 

But  conscience  cried:  "I  cannot; 
Remorse  sits  in  my  place." 


And  ever  the  moon  wept  down  in 

rain, 
And  ever  her  sighs  rose  high  in 

wind ; 
But  the  earth  and  sea  were  deaf 

and  blind, 
And    she    wept    and    sighed    her 

griefs  in  vain. 
And   ever   at   night,   when   the 

storm  is  fierce, 
The  cries  of  a  wraith  through 

the  thunder  pierce; 
And  the  waves  strain  their  aw- 
ful hands  on  high 


IONE 

i 

AH,  yes,  't  is  sweet  still  to  remem- 
ber, 
Though  'twere  less  painful  to 

forget  ; 
For  while  my  heart  glows  like  an 

ember, 
Mine  eyes  with  sorrow's  drops 

are  wet, 
And,    oh,    my    heart    is    aching 

yet. 
It  is.  a  law  of  mortal  pain 


[31] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


That    old    wounds,    long    ac-     Love  is  no  random  road  wayfarer 
counted  well,  Who  where  he  may  must  sip  his 

glass. 


Beneath    the    memory's    potent 

spell, 
Will  wake  to  life  and  bleed  again. 


Love    is    the    King,    the    Purple- 
Wearer, 
Whose  guard  recks  not  of  tree 

or  grass 
To  blaze  the  way  that  he  may 

pass. 

What  if  my  heart  be  in  the  blast 
That    heralds    his    triumphant 

way; 

Shall  I  repine,  shall  I  not  say: 
"  Rejoice,  my  heart,  the  King  has 
passed!" 


In  life,  each  heart  holds  some  sad 


So  'tis  with  me;  it  might  be  bet- 
ter 

If   I   should   turn   no   look  be- 
hind,— 

If  I  could  curb  my  heart,  and  fet- 
ter 
From     reminiscent     gaze     my 

mind, 
Or  let  my  soul  go  blind  —  go 

blind! 
But  would  I  do  it  if  I  could? 

Nay!  ease  at  such  a  price  were  story  — 

spurned ;  The  saddest  ones  are  never  told. 

For,  since  my  love  was  once  re-      I,  too,  have  dreamed  of  fame  and 

turned,  glory, 

All  that  I  suffer  seemeth  good.  And  viewed    the   future   bright 

with  gold; 

I  know,  I  know  it  is  the  fashion,          But  that  is  as  a  tale  long  told. 
When  love  has  left  some  heart      Mine  eyes  have  lost  their  youthful 

distressed,  flash, 

To  weight  the  air  with  wordful          My  cunning  hand  has  lost  its 

passion ;  art ; 

But    I    am    glad    that    in    my          I  am  not  old,  but  in  my  heart 

breast  The  ember  lies  beneath  the  ash. 

I  ever  held  so  dear  a  guest. 

Love  does  not  come  at  every  nod,      I   loved!     Why  not?     My  heart 
Or    every    voice     that    calleth  was  youthful, 

"  hasten ; "  My     mind     was     filled     with 

He  seeketh  out  some  heart   to  healthy  thought. 

chasten,  He  doubts  not  whose  own  self  is 

And  whips  it,  wailing,  up  to  God!  truthful, 

[32] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Doubt  by  dishonesty  is  taught;  A  form  where  every  maiden  grace 

So     loved     I     boldly,     fearing  Bloomed   to  perfection's   richest 

naught.  flower, — 

I  did  not  walk  this  lowly  earth;  The   statued  pose   of   conscious 

Mine    was    a     newer,     higher  power, 

sphere,  Like    lithe-limbed    Dian's   of    the 

Where  youth  was  long  and  life  chase. 

was  dear, 

And  all  save  love  was  little  worth.  Beneath  a  brow  too  fair  for  frown- 
ing, 

Her     likeness!     Would     that     I  Like  moon-lit   deeps  that  glass 

might  limn  it,  the  skies 

As    Love    did,    with    enduring  Till    all    the    hosts    above    seem 

art;  drowning, 

Nor  dust  of  days  nor  death  may  Looked  forth  her  steadfast  ha- 

dim  it,  zel  eyes» 

Where    it   lies   graven   on    my  With   gaze   serene   and   purely 

heart,  wise. 

Of  this  sad  fabric  of  my  life  a  And  over  all,  her  tresses  rare, 

part.  Which,   when,   with   his   desire 

I  would  that  I  might  paint  her  grown  weak, 

now  The  Night  bent  down  to  kiss 

As  I  beheld  her  in  that  day,  her  cheek, 

Ere  her  first  bloom  had  passed  Entrapped   and   held   him   captive 

away,  there. 
And  left  the  lines  upon  her  brow. 

This  was  lone;  a  spirit  finer 

A     face     serene     that,     beaming  Ne'er  burned   to  ash  its  house 

brightly,  of  clay; 

Disarmed  the  hot  sun's  glances  A  soul  instinct  with  fire  diviner 

bold.  Ne'er  fled  athwart  the  face  of 

A  foot  that  kissed  the  ground  so  day, 

lightly,  And  tempted  Time  with  earthly 

He     frowned     in     wrath     and  stay. 

deemed  her  cold,  Her  loveliness  was  not  alone 

But  loved  her  still  though  he  Of  face  and  form  and  tresses' 

was  old.  hue; 

[33] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

For  aye  a  pure,  high  soul  shone  Go    striding    down    the    gory 

through  West, 

Her  every  act:  this  was  lone.  When  Day's  long  fight  was  fought 

and  won. 
II 

'Twas    in    the    radiant    summer  And     life     became     a     different 

weather,  story; 

When     God     looked,     smiling,  Where'er  I  looked,  I  saw  new 

from  the  sky;  light. 

And  we  went  wand'ring  much  to-  Earth's    self    assumed    a    greater 

gether  glory, 

By  wood    and   lane,    lone   and  Mine     eyes     were     cleared     to 

I,  fuller  sight. 

Attracted  by  the  subtle  tie  Then  first  I  saw  the  need  and 

Of    common    thoughts    and   com-  might 

mon  tastes,  Of    that    fair    band,    the    singing 

Of  eyes  whose  vision   saw  the  throng, 

same>  Who,  gifted  with  the  skill  di- 

And     freely     granted     beauty's  vjnej 

dai™  Take    up    the    threads    of   life, 

Where  others  found  but  worthless  Spun  f]nej 

wastes.  And    weave    them    into    soulful 

song. 
We  paused  to  hear  the  far  bells 

ringing  They  sung  for  me,  whose  passion 

Across  the  distance,  sweet  and  pressing 

clear.  My   soul,    found   vent   in   song 

We    listened    to    the    wild    bird's  nor  line. 

singing  They  bore  the  burden  of  express- 

The    song    he    meant    for    his  ing 

mate's  ear,  All  that  I   felt,  with  art's  de- 

And  deemed  our  chance  to  do  sign, 

so  dear.  And  every  word  of  theirs  was 

We   loved   to  watch   the  warrior  mine. 

Sun,  I  read  them  to  lone,  ofttimes, 

With  flaming  shield  and  flaunt-  By  hill  and  shore,  beneath  .fair 

ing  crest,  skies, 

[34] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

And  she  looked  deeply  in  mine  in 

eyes>  To-day    my    skies    are    bare    and 

And  knew  my  love  spoke  through  ashen 

their  rhymes.  And    ben(J    on    me    without    a 

beam. 

Her  life  was  like  the  stream  that  Since  love  is  held  the  master-pas- 

floweth,  sion, 

And  mine  was  like  the  waiting  Its  loss   must   be   the  pain   su- 

sea ;  preme  — 

Her  love  was  like  the  flower  that  And   grinning   Fate   has   wrecked 

bloweth,  my  dream. 

And  mine  was  like  the  search-  But  pardon,  dear  departed  Guest, 

ing  bee  —  I  will  not  rant,  I  will  not  rail ; 

I   found   her  sweetness   all   for  For   good   the   grain   must   feel 

me.  the  flail; 

God    plied   him    in    the   mint    of  There  are  whom  love  has  never 

time,  blessed. 
And  coined  for  us  a  golden  day, 

And    rolled    it    ringing    down  I  had  and  have  a  younger  brother, 

life's  way  One  whom  I  loved  and  love  to- 

With    love's    sweet    music    in    its  day 

chime.  As  never  fond  and  doting  mother 

Adored  the  babe  who  found  its 

And   God  unclasped  the  Book  of  way 

Ages,  From  heavenly  scenes  into  her 

And  laid  it  open  to  our  sight;  day. 

Upon  the  dimness  of  its  pages,  Oh,   he  was  full  of  youth's  new 

So    long    consigned    to    rayless  wine, — 

night,  A  man  on  life's  ascending  slope, 

He  shed  the  glory  of  his  light.  Flushed  with  ambition,  full  of 

We  read  them  well,  we  read  them  hope; 

long,  And  every  wish  of  his  was  mine. 
And  ever  thrilling  did  we  see 

That    love    ruled    all    human-  A   kingly  youth;  the  way  before 

ity—  him 

The    master    passion,    pure    and  Was  thronged  with  victories  to 

.strong.  be  won; 

[35] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

So  joyous,   too,   the   heavens  o'er  And   so   my  brother's   dawning 

him  plight 

Were  bright  with  an  unchang-  Became  uncovered  to  my  sight. 

ing  sun, —  Some    sound-mote    in    his   passing 

His  days  with  rhyme  were  over-  tone 

run.  Caught   in   the   meshes   of    my 

Toil  had  not  taught  him  Nature's  ear; 

prose,  Some  little  glance,  a  shade  too 

Tears  had  not  dimmed  his  bril-  dear, 

liant  eyes,  Betrayed  the  love  he  bore  lone. 
And  sorrow  had  not  made  him 

wfse>'  What  could   I  do?     He  was  my 

His  life  was  in  the  budding  rose.  brother 

And   young,    and   full   of   hope 

I    know    not    how    I    came    to  and  trust; 

waken,  I    could    not,    dared    not    try    to 

Some  instinct  pricked  my  soul  smother 

to  sight;  His  flame,  and  turn  his  heart  to 

My   heart   by   some   vague   thrill  dust. 

was  shaken, —  I    knew    how    oft    life    gives   a 

A    thrill    so    true    and    yet    so  crust 

slight,  To    starving    men    who    cry    for 

I  hardly  deemed  I  read  aright.  bread; 

As  when  a  sleeper,  ign'rant  why,  But  he  was  young,  so  few  his 

Not   knowing  what   mysterious  days, 

hand  He  had  not  learned  the  great 

Has  called  him  out  of  slumber-  world's  ways, 

land,  Nor      Disappointment's     volumes 

Starts    up    to    find    some    danger  read, 
nigh. 

However  fair  and  rich  the  booty, 

Love  is  a  guest  that  comes,   un-  I  could  not  make  his  loss  my 

bidden,  gain. 

But,    having   come,    asserts    his  For    love    is    dear,    but    dearer 

right ;  duty, 

He  will  not  be  repressed  nor  hid-  And  here  my  way  was  clear  and 

den.  plain. 

[36] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

I  saw  how  I  could  save  him  pain.  My  heart  swelled  with  a  sea  of 

And  so,  with  all  my  day  grown  tears, 

dim,  The  tears  my  manhood  could  not 

That    this    loved    brother's   sun  shed. 

might  shine, 

I    joined    his    suit,    gave    over  The  world  f§  Rome>  and  Fate  {s 

mine,  NerO) 

And  sought  lone,  to  plead  for  him.  Disporting     in     the     hour     of 

«  doom. 

I  found  her  in  an  eastern  bower,  God  made  us  men ;  times  make  the 

Where  all  day  long  the  am'rous  hero  — 

sun  But    in    that    awful    space    of 

Lay  by  to  woo  a  timid  flower.  gloom 

This  day  his  course  was  well-  I  gave  no  thought  but  sorrow's 

nigh  run,  room. 

But  still  with  lingering  art  he  All  —  all    was    dim    within    that 

spun  bower, 

Gold    fancies    on    the    shadowed  .What  time  the  sun  divorced  the 

wall.  day; 

The  vines  waved  soft  and  green  And  all  the  shadows,  glooming 

above,  gray, 

And  there  where  one  might  tell  Proclaimed    the    sadness    of    the 

his  love,  hour. 
I  told  my  griefs  —  I  told  her  all ! 

She   could   not   speak — no  word 

I  told  her  all,  and  as  she  heark-  was  needed; 

ened,  Her  look,  half  strength  and  half 

A  tear-drop  fell  upon  her  dress.  despair, 

With  grief  her  flushing  brow  was  Told  me  I  had  not  vainly  pleaded, 

darkened;  That  she  would  not  ignore  my 

One  sob  that  she  could  not  re-  prayer. 

Press  And  so  she  turned  and  left  me 

Betrayed  the  depths  of  her  dis-  there, 

tress.  And   as   she  went,   so  passed   my 

Upon  her  grief  my  sorrow  fed,  bliss; 

And  I  was  bowed  with  unlived  She  loved  me,  I  could  not  mis- 
years,  take  — 

[37] 


THE   COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

But  for  her  own  and  my  love's  RELIGION 

sake, 

Her    womanhood    could    rise    to  l    AM    no    Priest    of    crooks    nor 

this!  creeds> 

For    human    wants    and    human 

My  wounded  heart  fled  swift  to  needs 

cover,  Are   more    to   me   than   prophets' 

And  life  at  times  seemed  very  deeds; 

drear.  And     human     tears    and    human 

My    brother    proved    an    ardent  cares 

lover —  Affect     me     more     than     human 

What  had  so  young  a  man  to  prayers. 

fear? 

He  wed  lone  within  the  year.  Go,    cease    your   wail,    lugubrious 

No    shadow    clouds    her    tranquil  saint! 

brow,  You  fret  high  Heaven  with  your 

Men  speak  her  husband's  name  plaint. 

with  pride,  Is  this  the  "  Christian's  joy  "  you 

While   she  sits  honored   at  his  paint? 

side — •  Is    this    the    Christian's    boasted 

She  is  —  she  must  be  happy  now !  bliss  ? 

Avails   your   faith   no   more   than 

I    doubt    the    course    I    took    no  tjjjsp 

longer, 

Since  those  I  love  seem  satisfied.  Take  up  your  armSj  CQme  Qut  wkh 

The  bond  between  them  will  grow  me 

stronger  Let  Heav'n  alone;  humanity 

As    they    go    forward    side    by  Needs  more  and  Heaven  less  from 

slde>'  thee. 

Then    will    my    pains    be    jus-  -With     pity     for     mankind     look 

fied-  'round; 

Their   joy    is   mine,    and    that    is  Help  them  to  rise  —  and  Heaven 

best  ~  is  found. 
I  am  not  totally  bereft; 
For    I    have    still    the    mem'ry 

left  — 
Love  stopped  with  me  —  a  Royal 

Guest! 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


DEACON  JONES'   GRIEV- 
ANCE 

I  VE   been   watchin'   of   'em,   par- 
son, 

An'  I  'm  sorry  fur  to  say 
'At  my  mind  is  not  contented 
With     the    loose     an'     keerless 

way 

'At  the  young  folks  treat  the  mu- 
sic; 
'T  ain't     the     proper     sort     o' 

choir. 

Then    I    don't    believe    in    Chris- 
tuns 
A-singin'   hymns   for   hire. 

But     I     never    would     'a'     mur- 
mured 

An'   the  matter  might  'a*  gone 
Ef  it  was  n't  fur  the  antics 

'At  I've  seen  'em  kerry  on; 
So  I  thought  it  was  my  dooty 

Fur  to  come  to  you  an'  ask 
Ef  you  would  n't  sort  o'  gently 

Take  them  singin'  folks  to  task. 

Fust,     the     music     they  Ve     be'n 

singin' 

Will  disgrace  us  mighty  soon; 
It 's  a  cross  between  a  opry 

An'  a  ol'  cotillion  tune. 
With  its  dashes  an'  its  quavers 

An'  its  hifalutin  style  — 
Why,    it   sets   my   head   to   swim- 

min' 

When    I  'm    comin'    down    the 
aisle. 


Now  it  might  be  almost  decent 

Ef  it  was  n't  fur  the  way 
'At  they  git  up  there  an'  sing  it, 

Hey  dum  diddle,  loud  and  gay. 
Why,     it    shames     the    name    o' 
sacred 

In  its  brazen  wordliness, 
An'  they  Ve  even  got  "  Ol'  Hun- 
dred " 

In  a  bold,  new-fangled  dress. 

You  '11  excuse  me,  Mr.  Parson, 

Ef  I  seem  a  little  sore; 
But  I  Ve  sung  the  songs  of  Isr'el 

For  threescore  years  an'  more, 
An'  it  sort  o'  hurts  my  feelin's 

Fur  to  see  'em  put  away 
Fur  these  harum-scarum  ditties 

'At  is  capturin'   the  day. 

There  's  anuther  little  happ'nin' 

'At    I  '11    mention    while    I  'm 

here, 
Jes'  to  show  'at  my  objections 

All  is  offered  sound  and  clear. 
It  was  one  day  they  was  singin' 

An'  was  doin'  well  enough  — 
Singin'  good  as  people  could  sing 

Sich  an  awful  mess  o'  stuff  — 

When  the  choir  give  a  holler, 

An'  the  organ  give  a  groan, 
An'  they  left  one  weak-voiced  fel- 
ler 

A-singin'  there  alone! 
But  he  stuck  right  to  the  music, 
Tho'     'twas    tryin'     as    could 
be; 

9] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  when  I  tried  to  help  him, 
Why,  the  hull  church  scowled 
at  me. 

You  say  that 's  so-low  singin', 

Well,  I  pray  the  Lord  that  I 
Growed     up     when     folks     was 

willin' 

To  sing  their  hymns  so  high. 
Why,  we  never  had  sich  doin's 
In  the  good  ol'  Bethel  days, 
When    the    folks    was    all    con- 
tented 

With     the     simple     songs     of 
praise. 

Now  I  may  have  spoke  too  open, 
But    'twas    too    hard    to    keep 

still, 
An'  I  hope  you  '11  tell  the  singers 

'At  I  bear  'em  no  ill-will. 
'At  they  all  may  git  to  glory 

Is  my  wish  an'  my  desire, 
But  they  '11  need  some  extry  train- 
in' 

'Fore    they    jine    the    heavenly 
choir. 


ALICE 

KNOW  you,  winds  that  blow  your 

course 

Down  the  verdant  valleys, 
That   somewhere   you   must,   per- 
force, 

Kiss  the  brow  of  Alice? 
When  her  gentle  face  you  find, 
Kiss  it  softly,  naughty  wind. 


Roses  waving  fair  and  sweet 
Thro'   the   garden   alleys, 

Grow  into  a  glory  meet 
For  the  eye  of  Alice; 

Let  the  wind  your  offering  bear 

Of  sweet  perfume,  faint  and  rare. 

Lily  holding  crystal  dew 
In  your  pure  white  chalice, 

Nature   kind   hath   fashioned   you 
Like  the  soul  of  Alice; 

It  of  purest  white  is  wrought, 

Filled     with      gems     of     crystal 
thought. 


AFTER  THE  QUARREL 

So  we,   who  Ve  supped   the  self- 
same  cup, 

To-night  must  lay  our  friend- 
ship by; 
Your     wrath     has     burned     your 

judgment  up, 
Hot  breath  has  blown  the  ashes 

high. 
You  say  that  you  are  wronged  — 

ah,   well, 
I    count    that    friendship    poor, 

at  best 

A  bauble,  a  mere  bagatelle, 
That  cannot  stand  so  slight  a 
test. 

I  fain  would  still  have  been  your 

friend, 

And    talked    and    laughed    and 
loved  with  you; 


[40] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


But  since  it  must,  why,  let  it  end ; 
The  false  but  dies,  'tis  not  the 

true. 

So  we  are  favored,  you  and  I, 
Who     only    want    the    living 

truth. 

It  was  not  good  to  nurse  the  lie; 
'Tis  well   it  died   in   harmless 
youth. 

I  go  from  you  to-night  to  sleep. 
Why,    what 's   the    odds  ?   why 

should  I   grieve? 
I  have  no  fund  of  tears  to  weep 

For  happenings  that  undeceive. 
The    days    shall    come,    the    days 

shall  go 

Just  as  they  came  and  went  be- 
fore. 
The  sun  shall  shine,  the  streams 

shall  flow 

Though  you  and  I  are  friends  no 
more. 

And  in  the  volume  of  my  years, 
Where    all    my    thoughts    and 

acts  shall  be, 
The    page    whereon    your    name 

appears 

Shall  be  forever  sealed  to  me. 
Not  that  I  hate  you  over-much, 
'Tis  less  of  hate  than  love  de- 
fied; 
Howe'er,  our  hands  no  more  shall 

touch, 

We  '11  go  our  ways,  the  world  is 
wide. 

[41 


BEYOND  THE  YEARS 


BEYOND  the  years  the  answer  lies, 
Beyond  where  brood  the  grieving 

skies 

And  Night  drops  tears. 
Where  Faith  rod-chastened  smiles 

to  rise 

And  doff  its  fears, 
And    carping    Sorrow    pines    and 

dies  — 
Beyond  the  years. 

ii 

Beyond  the  years  the  prayer  for  rest 
Shall    beat    no    more   within    the 

breast ; 

The  darkness  clears, 
And  Morn  perched  on  the  moun- 
tain's crest 
Her  form  uprears  — 
The  day  that  is  to  come  is  best, 
Beyond  the  years. 

in 

Beyond  the  years  the  soul  shall  find 
That  endless  peace  for  which  it 

pined, 

For  light  appears, 
And  to  the  eyes  that  still  were  blind 

With  blood  and  tears, 
Their  sight  shall  come  all  uncon- 

fined 
Beyond  the  years. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


AFTER  A  VISIT 

I  BE'N  down  in  ole  Kentucky 

Fur  a  week  er  two,  an'  say, 
'T  wuz  ez  hard  ez  breakin'  oxen 

Fur  to  tear  myse'f  away. 
Allus  argerin'  'bout  fren'ship 

An'  yer  hospitality  — 
Y'  ain't  no  right  to  talk  about  it 

Tell  you  be'n  down  there  to  see. 

See  jest  how  they  give  you  welcome 

To  the  best  that 's  in  the  land, 
Feel  the  sort  o'  grip  they  give  you 

When  they  take  you  by  the  hand. 
Hear   'em  say,   "  We  're   glad   to 
have  you, 

Better  stay  a  week  er  two ;  " 
An'  the  way  they  treat  you  makes 
you 

Feel  that  ev'ry  word  is  true. 

Feed  you  tell  you  hear  the  buttons 

Crackin'  on  yore  Sunday  vest; 
Haul  you  roun'  to  see  the  wonders 

Tell  you  have  to  cry  for  rest. 
Drink  yer  health  an'  pet  an'  praise 
you 

Tell  you  git  to  feel  ez  great 
Ez  the  Sheriff  o'  the  county 

Er  the  Gov'ner  o'  the  State. 

Wife,  she  sez  I  must  be  crazy 
'Cause  I  go  on  so,  an'  Nelse 
He    'lows,    "  Goodness    gracious ! 

daddy, 

Cain't   you   talk   about   nuthin' 
else?" 

[42 


Well,  pleg-gone  it,  I  'm  jes'  tickled, 
Bein'  tickled  ain't  no  sin; 

I  be'n  down  in  ole  Kentucky, 
An'  I  want  o'  go  ag'in. 


CURTAIN 

VILLAIN  shows  his  indiscretion, 
Villain's  partner  makes  confession. 
Juvenile,  with  golden  tresses, 
Finds  her  pa  and  dons  long  dresses. 
Scapegrace    conies    home    money- 
laden, 

Hero  comforts  tearful  maiden, 
Soubrette  marries  loyal  chappie, 
Villain  skips,  and  all  are  happy. 


THE  SPELLIN'-BEE 

I  NEVER  shall  furgit  that  night 
when  father  hitched  up  Dob- 
bin, 

An'  all  us  youngsters  clambered  in 
an'  down  the  road  went  bob- 
bin' 

To  school  where  we  was  kep' 
at  work  in  every  kind  o' 
weather, 

But  where  that  night  a  spellin'- 
bee  was  callin'  us  together. 

'Twas  one  o'  Heaven's  banner 
nights,  the  stars  was  all  a 
glitter, 

The  moon  was  shinin'  like  the 
hand  o'  God  had  jest  then  lit 
her. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


The  ground  was  white  with  spot- 
less snow,  the  blast  was  sort 
o'  stingin'; 

But  underneath  our  round-abouts, 
you  bet  our  hearts  was  sing- 
in'. 

That  spellin'-bee  had  be'n  the  talk 
o'  many  a  precious  moment, 

The  youngsters  all  was  wild  to  see 
jes'  what  the  precious  show 
meant, 

An'  we  whose  years  was  in  their 
teens  was  little  less  desirous 

O'  gittin'  to  the  meetin'  so  's  our 
sweethearts  could  admire  us. 

So  on  we  went  so  anxious  fur  to 
satisfy  our  mission 

That '  father  'had  to  box  our  ears, 
to  smother  our  ambition. 

But  boxin'  ears  was  too  short 
work  to  hinder  cur  arrivin', 

He  jest  turned  roun'  an'  smacked 
us  all,  an'  kep'  right  on 
a-drivinj. 

Well,  soon  the  schoolhouse  hove 
in  sight,  the  winders  beamin' 
brightly ; 

The  sound  o'  talkin'  reached  our 
ears,  and  voices  laffin'  lightly. 

It  puffed  us  up  so  full  an'  big  'at 
I  '11  jest  bet  a  dollar, 

There  wa'n't  a  feller  there  but 
felt  the  strain  upon  his  col- 
lar. 

So  down  we  jumped  an'  in  we 
went  ez  sprightly  ez  you 


make 


em, 


But  somethin'  grabbed  us  by  the 

knees    an*    straight   began    to 

shake  'em. 
Fur    once     within     that     lighted 

room,    our    feelin's    took    a 

canter, 
An'  scurried  to  the  zero  mark  ez 

quick  ez  Tam  O'Shanter. 
'Cause  there  was  crowds  o'   peo- 
ple there,  both  sexes  an'  all 

stations  ; 
It  looked   like   all   the   town  had 

come  an'  brought  all  their  re- 
lations. 
The  first  I  saw  was  Nettie  Gray, 

I     thought     that     girl     was 

dearer 
'N'  gold ;  an'  when  I  got  a  chance, 

you    bet    I    aidged    up    near 
.   her. 
An'     Farmer    Dobbs's    girl    was 

there,    the   one   'at   Jim   was 

sweet  on, 
An'     Cyrus     Jones     an'     Mandy 

Smith  an'  Faith  an'  Patience 

Deaton. 
Then  Parson  Brown  an'  Lawyer 

Jones  were  present  —  all  at- 
tention, 
An'  piles  on  piles  of  other  folks 

too  numerous  to  mention. 
The  master  rose  an'  briefly  said: 

"  Good  friends,  dear  brother 

Crawford, 
To  spur  the  pupils'  minds  along, 

a  little  prize  has  offered. 
To  him  who  spells  the  best   to- 

[43] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


night  —  or  't  may  be  '  her  ' — 

no  tellin' — 
He  offers  ez  a  jest  reward,  this 

precious  work  on  spellin'." 
A  little   blue-backed   spellin'-book 

with   fancy  scarlet  trimmin'; 
We   boys    devoured   it   with    our 

eyes  —  so    did    the    girls    an' 

women. 
He  held  it  up  where  all  could  see, 

then  on  the  table  set  it, 
An'  ev'ry  speller  in  the  house  felt 

mortal  bound  to  get  it. 
At  his  command  we  fell  in  line, 

prepared  to  do  our  dooty, 
Outspell  the  rest  an'  set  'em  down, 

an'  carry  home  the  booty. 
'Twas  then  the  merry  times  be- 
gan,   the    blunders,    an'    the 

laffin', 
The  nudges  an'  the  nods  an'  winks 

an'   stale   good-natured    chaf- 

fin'. 
Ole  Uncle  Hiram  Dane  was  there, 

the  clostest  man  a-livin', 
Whose  only  bugbear  seemed  to  be 

the  dreadful  fear  o'  givin'. 
His  beard  was  long,  his  hair  un- 
cut, his  clothes  all  bare  an* 

dingy; 
It    was  n't    'cause    the    man    was 

pore,     but     jest     so     mortal 

stingy; 
An'  there  he  sot  by  Sally  Riggs 

a-smilin'  an'  a-smirkin', 
An'  all  his  children  lef  to  home  a 

diggin'  an'  a-workin'. 

[44] 


A  widower  he  was,  an'  Sal  was 

thinkin'  'at  she  'd  wing  him ; 
I  reckon  he  was  wond'rin'  what 

them    rings    o'    hern    would 

bring  him. 

An'    when    the    spellin'-test    com- 
menced,  he  up  an'  took  his 

station, 
A-spellin'  with  the  best  o'   them 

to  beat  the  very  nation. 
An'  when  he  'd  spell  some  young- 
ster down,  he  'd  turn  to  look 

at  Sally, 
An'  say:  "The  teachin'  nowadays 

can't  be  o'  no  great  vally." 
But  true  enough  the  adage  says, 

"  Pride     walks     in     slipp'ry 

places," 
Fur  soon   a   thing  occurred   that 

put  a  smile  on  all  our  faces. 
The  laffter  jest  kep'  ripplin'  'roun' 

an'  teacher  could  n't  quell  it, 
Fur  when  he  give  out  "  charity  " 

ole  Hiram  could  n't  spell  it. 
But     laffin'     's     ketchin'     an'     it 

throwed  some  others  off  their 

bases, 
An'  folks  'u'd  miss  the  very  word 

that  seemed  to  fit  their  cases. 
Why,  fickle  little  Jessie  Lee  come 

near  the  house  upsettin' 
By  puttin'  in  a  double  "  kay  "  to 

spell  the  word  "  coquettinV 
An'  when  it  come  to  Cyrus  Jones, 

it  tickled  me  all  over  — 
Him  settin'  up  to  Mandy  Smith 

an'  got  sot  down  on  "  lover." 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


But  Lawyer  Jones  of  all  gone  men 
did  shorely  look  the  gonest, 

When  he  found  out  that  he  'd  fur- 
got  to  put  the  "  h  "  in  "  hon- 
est." 

An'  Parson  Brown,  whose  ser- 
mons were  too  long  fur  tol- 
eration, 

Caused  lots  o'  smiles  by  missin' 
when  they  give  out  "  con- 
densation." 

So  one  by  one  they  giv'  it  up  — 
the  big  words  kep'  a-landin', 

Till  me  an'  Nettie  Gray  was  left, 
the  only  ones  a-standin', 

An'  then  my  inward  strife  began 
—  I  guess  my  mind  was 
petty  — 

I  did  so  want  that  spellin'-book; 
but  then  to  spell  down  Net- 
tie 

Jest  sort  o'  went  ag'in  my  grain  — 
I  somehow  could  n't  do  it, 

An'  when  I  git  a  notion  fixed, 
I  'm  great  on  stickin'  to  it. 

So  when  they  giv'  the  next  word 
out  —  I  had  n't  orter  tell 
it, 

But  then  'twas  all  fur  Nettie's 
sake  —  I  missed  so 's  she 
could  spell  it. 

She  spelt  the  word,  then  looked  at 
me  so  lovin'-like  an'  mello', 

I  tell  you  't  sent  a  hunderd  pins 
a  shootin'  through  a  fello'. 


O'  course  I  had  to  stand  the  jokes 

an'  chaffin'  of  the  fello's, 
But    when    they   handed    her   the 

book  I  vow  I  was  n't  jealous. 
We    sung    a    hymn,    an'    Parson 

Brown   dismissed   us   like   he 

orter, 
Fur,  la !  he  'd  learned  a  thing  er 

two    an*    made    his    blessin' 

shorter. 
'Twas  late  an*  cold  when  we  got 

out,    but    Nettie    liked    cold 

weather, 
An'  so  did  I,  so  we  agreed  we  'd 

jest  walk  home  together. 
We  both  wuz  silent,  fur  of  words 

we  nuther  had  a  surplus, 
'Till  she   spoke  out  quite  sudden 

like,  "  You  missed  that  word 

on  purpose." 
Well,  I  declare  it  frightened  me; 

at  first  I  tried  denyin', 
But    Nettie,    she   jest    smiled    an' 

smiled,    she    knowed    that    I 

was  lyin'. 
Sez  she :  "  That  book  is  yourn  by 

right;"    sez    I:    "  It    never 

could  be  — 
I  —  I  —  you  —  ah  — "    an'    there 

I  stuck,  an'  well  she  under- 
stood me. 
So  we  agreed  that  later  on  when 

age  had  giv'  us  tether, 
We  'd  jine  our  lots  an'  settle  down 

to  own  that  book  together. 


[45] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


KEEP  A-PLUGGIN'  AWAY 

I  VE  a  humble  little  motto 
That     is     homely,     though     it 's 
true, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
It 's  a  thing  when  I  Ve  an  object 
That  I  always  try  to  do, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
When    you  Ve    rising    storms    to 

quell, 

When  opposing  waters  swell, 
It  will  never  fail  to  tell, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 

If  the  hills  are  high  before 

And  the  paths  are  hard  to  climb, 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
And  remember  that  successes 
Come     to     him     who     bides     his 
time, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
From  the  greatest  to  the  least, 
None  are  from  the  rule  released. 
Be  thou  toiler,  poet,  priest, 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 

Delve  away  beneath  the  surface, 
There  is  treasure  farther  down, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
Let  the  rain  come  down   in  tor- 
rents, 
Let  the  threat'ning  heavens  frown, 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
When     the     clouds     have     rolled 
away, 


There  will  come  a  brighter  day 
All  your  labor  to  repay, — 
Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 

There  '11  be  lots  of  sneers  to  swal- 
low, 
There  '11  be  lots  of  pain  to  bear, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
If  you  Ve  got  your  eye  on  heaven, 
Some  bright  day  you  '11  wake  up 
there, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 
Perseverance  still  is  king; 
Time  its  sure  reward  will  bring; 
Work  and  wait  unwearying, — 

Keep  a-pluggin'  away. 


NIGHT  OF  LOVE 

THE  moon  has  left  the  sky,  love, 

The  stars  are  hiding  now, 
And  frowning  on  the  world,  love, 

Night  bares  her  sable  brow. 
The  snow  is  on  the  ground,  love, 

And  cold  and  keen  the  air  is. 
I  'm  singing  here  to  you,  love ; 

You  're  dreaming  there  in  Paris. 

But  this  is  Nature's  law,  love, 

Though  just  it  may  not  seem, 
That   men   should   wake   to   sing, 

love, 

While  maidens  sleep  and  dream. 
Them  care  may  not  molest,  love, 
Nor  stir  them  from  their 'slum- 
bers, 


[46] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Though  midnight  find  the  swain, 

love, 
Still  halting  o'er  his  numbers. 

I  watch  the  rosy  dawn,  love, 

Come  stealing  up  the  east, 
While    all    things    round    rejoice, 
love, 

That     Night     her     reign     has 

ceased. 
The  lark  will  soon  be  heard,  love, 

And  on  his  way  be  winging; 
When  Nature's  poets  wake,  love, 

Why  should  a  man  be  singing? 


COLUMBIAN  ODE 


FOUR  hundred  years  ago  a  tangled 

waste 

Lay   sleeping  on   the   west  At- 
lantic's side; 
Their     devious     ways     the     Old 

World's  millions  traced 
Content,    and    loved,    and    la- 
bored, dared  and  died, 
While  students   still  believed  the 

charts  they  conned, 
And  revelled  in  their  thriftless 

ignorance, 
Nor  dreamed  of  other  lands  that 

lay  beyond 

Old    Ocean's    dense,    indefinite 
expanse. 


II 

But  deep  within  her  heart  old  Na- 
ture knew 
That  she  had  once  arrayed,  at 

Earth's  behest, 
Another   offspring,    fine   and    fair 

to  view, — 
The    chosen    suckling    of    the 

mother's  breast. 

The  child  was  wrapped  in  vest- 
ments soft  and  fine, 
Each  fold  a  work  of  Nature's 

matchless  art; 
The  mother  looked  on  it  with  love 

divine, 
And     strained     the    loved    one 

closely  to  her  heart. 
And    there    it   lay,    and   with   the 

warmth  grew  strong 
And    hearty,    by    the    salt    sea 

breezes  fanned, 
Till  Time  with  mellowing  touches 

passed  along, 

And    changed    the   infant    to    a 
mighty  land. 


ill 


But  men  knew  naught  of  this,  till 

there  arose 

That      mighty      mariner,      the 
Genoese, 

Who  dared  to  try,  in  spite  of  fears 

and  foes, 

The  unknown   fortunes  of  un- 
sounded seas. 

O    noblest    of    Italia's    sons,    thy 
bark 

[47] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Went  not  alone  into  that  shroud-      And  a  dog  for  the  hunt  when  the 

ing  night!  game  is  flush, 

O   dauntless  darer  of  the  rayless          And  the  pick  of  a  gentleman's 

dark,  stable. 

The  world  sailed  with  thee  to 

eternal  light!  There  is   Dimmock  o'   Dune,   he 

The  deer-haunts  that  with  game  was  here  yester-night, 

But  he  's  rotting  to-day  on  Glen 

Arragh  ; 
'Twas  the  hand   o'   MacPherson 

that  gave  him  the  blow, 
And  the  vultures  shall  feast  on 

his  marrow. 
But  it  's  heigho   for  a  brave  old 

song 

And  a  glass  while  we  are  able; 
Now  teems  with  men  of   Na-      Here  's  a  health  to  death  and  an- 

ture's  noblest  types;  other  cup 

Where    moved    the    forest-foliage         To  the  bright  eye  over  the  table. 

banner  green, 

Now  flutters  in  the  breeze  the      I  can  show  a  broad  back  and  a 
stars  and  stripes!  jolly  deep  chest, 

But    who    argues   now    on    ap- 

pearance ? 
A  blow  or  a  thrust  or  a  stumble 

at  best 
May    send    me    to-day    to    my 


were  crowded  then 
To-day  are  tilled  and  cultivated 

lands ; 
The     schoolhouse     tow'rs     where 

Bruin  had  his  den, 
And  where  the  wigwam  stood 

the  chapel  stands; 
The  place  that  nurtured  men  of 
savage  mien 


A  BORDER  BALLAD 


. 
clearance. 


~      T  ,          ,  T       r 

OH,  I  have  n  t  got  long  to  live,  for 

„    ' 

we  all  rr-t       .   ,    .    .  ,      .       ,       ,  . 

T^.  ,        ,  t,     r          Inen  it  s  heigho  for  the  things  I 

Die  soon,  e  en  those  who  live  , 

.  love, 

longest  ; 


My  mother  '11  be  soon  wearing 
sable, 


And  the  poorest  and  weakest  are 

taking  their  chance  „        .  , 

A1  .  ,       .         .  r  j      But  give  me  my  horse  and  my  dog 

Along    with    the    richest    and  „  j  _      i 

strongest. 
So  it 's  heigho  for  a  glass  and  a 

song, 
And  a  bright  eye  over  the  table, 

[48] 


and  my  glass, 
And  a  bright  eye  over  the  table. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


AN  EASY-COIN'  FELLER 

THER'    ain't    no    use   in   all   this 

strife, 
An'  hurryin',  pell-mell,  right  thro' 

life. 

I  don't  believe  in  goin'  too  fast 
To  see  what  kind  o'  road  you  've 

passed. 

It  ain't  no  mortal  kind  o3  good, 
'N'  I  would  n't  hurry  ef  I  could. 
I  like  to  jest  go  joggin'  'long, 
To  limber  up  my  soul  with  song; 
To  stop  awhile  'n'  chat  the  men, 
'N'    drink    some    cider    now    an' 

then. 

Do'  want  no  boss  a-standin'  by 
To  see  me  work;  I  allus  try 
To  do  my  dooty  right  straight  up, 
An'  earn  what  fills  my  plate  an' 

cup. 

An'  ez  fur  boss,  I  '11  be  my  own, 
I  like  to  jest  be  let  alone, 
To  plough  my  strip  an'  tend  my 

bees, 

An'  do  jest  like  I  doggoned  please. 
My    head 's    all    right,    an'    my 

heart 's  meller, 
But  I  'm  a  easy-goin'  feller. 


A  NEGRO  LOVE  SONG 

SEEN  my  lady  home  las'  night, 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Hel'  huh  ban'  an'  sque'z  it  tight, 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Hyeahd  huh  sigh  a  little  sigh, 


Seen  a  light  gleam  f'om  huh  eye, 
An'  a  smile  go  flittin'  by  — 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Hyeahd    de   win'    blow    thoo   de 
pine, 

Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 
Mockin'-bird  was  singin'  fine, 

Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 
An'  my  hea't  was  beatin'  so, 
When  I  reached  my  lady's  do', 
Dat  I  could  n't  ba'  to  go  — 

Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Put  my  ahm  aroun'  huh  wais', 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Raised  huh  lips  an'  took  a  tase, 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 

Love  me,  honey,  love  me  true? 

Love  me  well  ez  I  love  you? 

An'  she  answe'd,  «  'Cose  I  do  "— 
Jump  back,  honey,  jump  back. 


THE  DILETTANTE:  A 
MODERN  TYPE 

HE  scribbles  some  in  prose  and 
verse, 

And  now  and  then  he  prints  it; 
He  paints  a  little, —  gathers  some 

Of  Nature's  gold  and  mints  it. 

He  plays  a  little,  sings  a  song, 
Acts  tragic  roles,  or  funny; 

He  does,  because  his  love  is  strong, 
But  not,  oh,  not  for  money! 


[49] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


He  studies  almost  everything 
From  social  art  to  science; 

A  thirsty  mind,  a  flowing  spring, 
Demand  and  swift  compliance. 

He     looms     above     the     sordid 

crowd  — 

At  least  through  friendly  lenses  ; 
While  his  mamma  looks  pleased 

and  proud, 
And  kindly  pays  expenses. 


BY  THE  STREAM 

BY  the  stream   I   dream  in  calm 

delight,   and   watch   as   in   a 

glass, 
How  the  clouds  like  crowds  of 

snowy-hued   and   white-robed 

maidens  pass, 
And  the  water  into  ripples  breaks 

and  sparkles  as  it  spreads, 
Like   a  host   of   armored   knights 

with  silver  helmets  on  their 

heads. 
And  I  deem  the  stream  an  emblem 

fit  of  human  life  may  go, 
For   I   find   a  mind   may   sparkle 

much    and    yet   but   shallows 

show, 
And  a  soul  may  glow  with  myriad 

lights     and     wondrous     mys- 
teries, 
When  it  only  lies  a  dormant  thing 

and  mirrors  what  it  sees. 


THE   COLORED   SOLDIERS 

IF  the  muse  were  mine  to  tempt  it 

And     my     feeble     voice     were 

strong, 

If    my    tongue    were    trained    to 
measures, 

I  would  sing  a  stirring  song. 
I  would  sing  a  song  heroic 

Of  those  noble  sons  of  Ham, 
Of  the  gallant  colored  soldiers 

Who  fought  for  Uncle  Sam! 

In    the    early    days    you    scorned 

them, 

And  with  many  a  flip  and  flout 
Said  "  These  battles  are  the  white 

man's, 
And  the  whites  will  fight  them 

out." 

Up  the  hills  you  fought  and  fal- 
tered, 

In  the  vales  you  strove  and  bled, 
While   your   ears   still   heard    the 

thunder 
Of  the  foes'  advancing  tread. 

Then  distress  fell  on  the  nation, 

And  the  flag  was  drooping  low; 
Should  the  dust  pollute  your  ban- 
ner? 

No!  the  nation  shouted,  No! 
So  when  War,  in  savage  triumph, 
Spread      abroad      his      funeral 

pall- 

Then  you  called  the  colored  sol- 
diers, 
And  they  answered  to  your  call. 

50] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And   like    hounds    unleashed    and      For  the  life  blood  of  their  thou- 


eager 

For  the  life  blood  of  the  prey, 
Sprung  they  forth  and  bore  them 

bravely 

In  the  thickest  of  the  fray. 
And  where'er  the  fight  was  hot- 
test, 

Where  the  bullets  fastest  fell, 
There    they    pressed    unblanched 

and  fearless 
At  the  very  mouth  of  hell. 

Ah,  they  rallied  to  the  standard 

To  uphold  it  by  their  might; 
None  were  stronger  in  the  labors, 

None  were  braver  in  the  fight. 
From  the  blazing  breach  of  Wag- 
ner 

To  the  plains  of  Olustee, 
They  were  foremost  in  the  fight 

Of  the  battles  of  the  free. 

And  at  Pillow!     God  have  mercy 

On  the  deeds  committed  there, 
And  the  souls  of  those  poor  vic- 
tims 

Sent  to  Thee  without  a  prayer. 
Let  the  fulness  of  Thy  pity 

O'er    the    hot    wrought    spirits 

sway 
Of  the  gallant  colored  soldiers 

Who  fell  fighting  on  that  day! 

Yes,  the  Blacks  enjoy  their  free- 
dom, 
And  they  won  it  dearly,  too; 

[5 


sands 

Did  the  southern  fields  bedew. 
In  the  darkness  of  their  bondage, 
In  the  depths  of  slavery's  night, 
Their  muskets  flashed  the  dawn- 
ing, 

And  they  fought  their  way  to 
light. 

They  were  comrades  then  and 
brothers, 

Are  they  more  or  less  to-day? 
They  were  good  to  stop  a  bullet 

And  to  front  the  fearful  fray. 
They  were  citizens  and  soldiers, 

When  rebellion  raised  its  head; 
And  the  traits  that  made  them 
worthy,  — 

Ah  !  those  virtues  are  not  dead. 

They    have   shared    your    nightly 

vigils, 
They    have   shared    your    daily 

toil  ; 

And  their  blood  with  yours  com- 
mingling 
Has  enriched  the  Southern  soil. 

They  have  slept  and  marched  and 

suffered 
'Neath  the  same  dark  skies  as 

you, 

They  have  met  as  fierce  a  foe- 
man, 

And    have   been   as   brave   and 
true. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And  their  deeds  shall  find  a  record 

In  the  registry  of  Fame; 
For  their  blood  has  cleansed  com- 
pletely 

Every  blot  of  Slavery's  shame. 
So  all  honor  and  all  glory 

To  those  noble  sons  of  Ham — 
The  gallant  colored  soldiers 

Who  fought  for  Uncle  Sam! 

NATURE  AND  ART 

TO    MY    FRIEND   CHARLES    BOOTH 
NETTLETON 


THE   young   queen   Nature,   ever 

sweet  and  fair, 
Once  on  a  time  fell  upon  evil 

days. 

From    hearing   oft   herself    dis- 
cussed with  praise, 
There  grew  within  her  heart  the 

longing  rare 
To  see  herself;  and  every  passing 

air 
The   warm    desire   fanned   into 

lusty  blaze. 
Full  oft  she  sought  this  end  by 

devious  ways, 
But  sought  in  vain,  so  fell  she  in 

despair. 
For  none  within  her  train  nor  by 

her  side 
Could  solve  the  task  or  give  the 

envied  boon. 

So  day  and  night,  beneath  the 
sun  and  moon, 


She  wandered  to  and  fro  unsatis- 
fied, 

Till  Art  came  by,  a  blithe  in- 
ventive elf, 

And  made  a  glass  wherein  she 
saw  herself. 

II 

Enrapt,   the  queen  gazed  on   her 

glorious  self, 
Then  trembling  with  the  thrill 

of  sudden  thought, 
Commanded     that     the     skilful 

wight  be  brought 
That  she  might  dower  him  with 

lands  and  pelf. 
Then  out  upon  the  silent  sea-lapt 

shelf 
And   up   the  hills   and   on   the 

downs  they  sought 
Him    who    so    well    and    won- 

drously  had  wrought; 
And  with  much  search  found  and 

brought  home  the  elf. 
But  he  put  by  all  gifts  with  sad 

replies, 
And    from    his    lips    these    words 

flowed  forth  like  wine: 
"  O  queen,  I  want  no  gift  but 

thee,"  he  said. 
She  heard  and  looked  on  him  with 

love-lit  eyes, 

Gave  him  her  hand,  low  murmur- 
ing, "  I  am  thine," 
And  at  the  morrow's  dawning 
they  were  wed. 


[52] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


AFTER  WHILE 

A  POEM  OF  FAITH 

I  THINK  that  though  the  clouds 

be  dark, 
That  though  the  waves  dash  o'er 

the  bark, 
Yet    after    while    the    light    will 

come, 
And  in  calm  waters  safe  at  home 

The  bark  will  anchor. 
Weep    not,    my    sad-eyed,    gray- 
robed  maid, 
Because     your     fairest     blossoms 

fade, 
That   sorrow   still   o'erruns   your 

cup, 
And  even  though  you  root  them 

up, 

The  weeds  grow  ranker. 


That  after  while  the  clouds  will 

part, 
And   then   with   joy   the  waiting 

heart 
Shall  feel  the  light  come  stealing 

in, 
That  drives  away  the  cloud  of  sin 

And  breaks  its  power. 
And  you  shall  burst  your  chrysa- 

u., 

And    wing    away    to    realms    of 

bliss, 
Untrammelled,       pure,       divinely 

free, 
Above  all  earth's  anxiety 

From  that  same  hour. 


THE  OL'  TUNES 


You  kin  talk  about  yer  anthems 
For  after  while  your  tears  shall         An>  yer  arlas  an»  slchj 

cease'  An'  yer  modern  choir-singin' 

And    sorrow    shall    give    way    to         That  you  think  so  awful  rich ; 

But  you  orter  heerd  us  youngsters 
In  the  times  now  far  away, 


peace; 
The     flowers    shall     bloom,     the 

weeds  shall  die, 
And  in  that  faith  seen,  by  and  by 

Thy  woes  shall  perish. 
Smile    at    old    Fortune's    adverse 

tide, 
Smile  when  the  scoffers  sneer  and 

chide. 
Oh,   not   for  you   the  gems   that 

pale, 
And  not  for  you  the  flowers  that 

fail; 

Let  this  thought  cherish: 


A-singin'  o'  the  ol'  tunes 
In   the  ol'-fashioned  way. 

There  was  some  of  us  sung  treble 

An'  a  few  of  us  growled  bass, 
An'     the     tide     o'     song     flowed 
smoothly 

With  its  'comp'niment  o'  grace ; 
There  was  spirit  in  that  music, 

An'  a  kind  o'  solemn  sway, 
A-singin'  o'  the  ol'  tunes 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 


[53] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I  remember  oft  o'  standin' 

In  my  homespun  pantaloons  — 
On  my  face  the  bronze  an'  freckles 

O'  the  suns  o'  youthful  Junes  — 
Thinkin'  that  no  mortal  minstrel 

Ever  chanted  sich  a  lay 
As  the  oP  tunes  we  was  singin' 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 

The  boys  'ud  always  lead  us, 

An'  the  girls  'ud  all  chime  in 
Till  the  sweetness  o'  the  singin' 

Robbed  the  list'nin'  soul  o'  sin; 
An'  I  used  to  tell  the  parson 

'T  was  as  good  to  sing  as  pray, 
When    the    people    sung    the    ol' 
tunes 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 

How  I  long  ag'in  to  hear  'em 

Pourin'  forth  from  soul  to  soul, 
With  the  treble  high  an'  meller, 

An'  the  bass's  mighty  roll; 
But  the  times  is  very  difFrent, 

An'  the  music  heerd  to-day 
Ain't  the  singin'  o'  the  ol'  tunes 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 

Little  screechin'  by  a  woman, 

Little  squawkin'  by  a  man, 
Then  the  organ's  twiddle-twaddle, 

Jest  the  empty  space  to  span,  — 
An'  ef  you  should  even  think  it, 

'T  is  n't  proper  fur  to  say 
That  you  want   to   hear   the   ol' 
tunes 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 


But    I    think    that    some    bright 
mornin', 

When  the  toils  of  life  air  o'er, 
An'  the  sun  o'  heaven  arisin' 

Glads    with    light    the    happy 

shore, 
I  shall  hear  the  angel  chorus, 

In  the  realms  of  endless  day, 
A-singin'  o'  the  ol'  tunes 

In  the  ol'-fashioned  way. 

MELANCHOLIA 

SILENTLY  without  my  window, 
Tapping  gently  at  the  pane, 
Falls  the  rain. 

Through  the  trees  sighs  the  breeze 
Like  a  soul  in  pain. 

Here  alone  I  sit  and  weep; 

Thought  hath  banished  sleep. 

Wearily  I  sit  and  listen 

To  the  water's  ceaseless  drip. 
To  my  lip 

Fate  turns  up  the  bitter  cup, 
Forcing  me  to  sip; 

'T  is  a  bitter,  bitter  drink, 

Thus  I  sit  and  think,  — 

Thinking    things    unknown     and 

awful, 
Thoughts     on     wild,     uncanny 

themes, 

Waking  dreams. 
Spectres  dark,  corpses  stark, 

Show  the  gaping  seams 
Whence  the  cold  and  cruel  knife 
Stole  away  their  life. 


[54] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Bloodshot    eyes    all    strained    and 
staring, 

Gazing  ghastly  into  mine; 

Blood  like  wine 
On  the  brow  —  clotted  now — 

Shows  death's  dreadful  sign. 
Lonely  vigil  still  I  keep; 
Would  that  I  might  sleep! 

Still,  oh,  still,  my  brain  is  whirl- 
ing! 
Still    runs    on    my    stream    of 

thought; 
I  am  caught 
In  the  net  fate  hath  set. 

Mind  and  soul  are  brought 
To  destruction's  very  brink; 
Yet  I  can  but  think! 

Eyes  that  look  into  the  future,— 

Peeping    forth     from    out    my 
mind, 

They  will  find 
Some  new  weight,  soon  or  late, 

On  my  soul  to  bind, 

Crushing  all  its  courage  out, — 
Heavier  than  doubt. 

Dawn,     the     Eastern     monarch's 

daughter, 

Rising  from  her  dewy  bed, 
Lays  her  head 
'Gainst  the  clouds'  sombre 

shrouds 

Now  half  fringed  with  red. 
O'er  the  land  she  'gins  to  peep; 
Come,  O  gentle  Sleep! 


Hark!  the  morning  cock  is  crow- 
ing; 
Dreams,   like   ghosts,   must   hie 

away; 

'Tis  the  day. 
Rosy  morn  now  is  born ; 

Dark  thoughts  may  not  stay. 
Day  my  brain  from  foes  will  keep ; 
Now,  my  soul,  I  sleep. 


THE  WOOING 

A   YOUTH    went    faring    up    and 
down, 

Alack  and  well-a-day. 
He  fared  him  to  the  market  town, 

Alack  and  well-a-day. 
And  there  he  met  a  maiden  fair, 
With  hazel  eyes  and  auburn  hair; 
His  heart  went  from  him  then  and 
there, 

Alack  and  well-a-day. 

She  posies  sold  right  merrily, 
Alack  and  well-a-day; 

But  not  a  flower  was  fair  as  she, 
Alack  and  well-a-day. 

He  bought   a   rose   and   sighed   a 
sigh, 

"  Ah,  dearest  maiden,  would  that  I 

Might  dare  the  seller  too  to  buy !  " 
Alack  and  well-a-day. 

She  tossed  her  head,  the  coy  co- 
quette, 
Alack  and  well-a-day. 

55] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

"  I'm  not,  sir,  in  the  market  yet,"  MERRY  AUTUMN 

Alack  and  well-a-day. 
"Your   love   must    cool    upon   a     IT'S  all  a  farce  -these  tales  they 

shelf;  tel1 

Tho'  much   I   sell  for  gold  and         About  the  breezes  sigh!nS> 

And   moans   astir    o'er   field    and 


I  'm  yet  too  young  to  sell  myself," 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  Because  the  ?™r  is 


Such  principles  are  most  absurd,  — 
The  youth  was  filled  with  sorrow         j    care    not   who    first   taught 

sore>  'em; 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  There's  nothing  known  to  beast 

And  looked  he  at  the  maid  once  or 


more'  To  make  a  solemn  autumn. 
Alack  and  well-a-day. 

Then  loud  he  cried,  "  Fair  maid-  In  solemn  tlmes>  when  grlef  holdg 

en,  if  sway 

Too  young  to  sell,  now  as  I  live,  With  countenance  distressing, 

You're  not  too  young  yourself  to  you'll  note  the  more  of  black  and 

glve>"  gray      * 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  Win  then  be  used  In  dressing. 

The   little   maid   cast   down   her  Now  purple  tints  are  all  around; 

eyes,  The  sky  is  blue  and  mellow; 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  And    e'en    the    grasses    turn    the 

And  many  a  flush  began  to  rise,  ground 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  From  modest  green  to  yellow. 
"  Why,  since  you  are  so  bold,"  she 

said,  The  seed  burrs  all  with  laughter 

"  I  doubt  not  you  are  highly  bred,  crack 

So  take  me!  "  and  the  twain  were  On  featherweed  and  jimson; 

wed,  And  leaves  that  should  be  dressed 

Alack  and  well-a-day.  in  black 

Are  all  decked  out  in  crimson. 

A  butterfly  goes  winging  by  ; 
A  singing  bird  comes  after; 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And   Nature,    all   from   earth   to 

sky, 
Is  bubbling  o'er  with  laughter. 

The  ripples  wimple  on  the  rills, 
Like  sparkling  little  lasses; 

The  sunlight  runs  along  the  hills, 
And  laughs  among  the  grasses. 

The  earth  is  just  so  full  of  fun 
It  really  can't  contain  it ; 

And   streams   of   mirth   so   freely 

run 
The  heavens  seem  to  rain  it. 

Don't  talk  to  me  of  solemn  days 
In  autumn's  time  of  splendor, 

Because  the  sun  shows  fewer  rays, 
And  these  grow  slant  and  slen- 
der. 

Why,  it's  the  climax  of  the 
year,  — 

The  highest  time  of  living!  — 
Till  naturally  its  bursting  cheer 

Just  melts  into  thanksgiving. 


WHEN    DE    CO'N    PONE'S 
HOT 

DEY  is  times  in  life  when  Nature 
Seems  to  slip  a  cog  an'  go, 

Jes'  a-rattlin'  down  creation, 
Lak  an  ocean's  overflow; 

When  de  worl'  jes'  stahts  a-spin- 

nin' 
Lak  a  picaninny's  top, 


An'  yo'  cup  o'  joy  is  brimmin' 
'Twell  it  seems  about  to  slop, 

An'  you  feel  jes'  lak  a  racah, 
Dat  is  trainin'  fu'  to  trot  — 

When  yo'  mammy  says  de  blessin' 
An'  de  co'n  pone  's  hot. 

When  you  set  down  at  de  table, 

Kin'  o'  weary  lak  an'  sad, 
An'  you  'se  jes'  a  little  tiahed 

An'  purhaps  a  little  mad; 
How  yo'   gloom  tu'ns  into  glad- 
ness, 

How    yo'   joy    drives    out    de 

doubt 
When  de  oven  do'  is  opened, 

An*  de  smell  comes  po'in'  out ; 
Why,  de  'lectric  light  o'  Heaven 

Seems  to  settle  on  de  spot, 
When  yo'  mammy  says  de  blessin' 

An'  de  co'n  pone  's  hot. 

When  de  cabbage  pot  is  steamin* 

An'  de  bacon  good  an'  fat, 
When  de  chittlins  is  a-sputter'n' 

So  's  to  show  you  whah  dey  's 

at; 
Tek  away  yo'  sody  biscuit, 

Tek  away  yo'  cake  an'  pie, 
Fu'  de  glory  time  is  comin', 

An*      it 's      'proachin'      mighty 

nigh, 
An'  you  want  to  jump  an'  hollah, 

Dough  you  know  you  'd  bettah 

not, 
When  yo'  mammy  says  de  blessin' 

An'  de  co'n  pone  's  hot. 

57] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I  have  hyeahd  o'  lots  o'  sermons, 

An'    I  Ve    hyeahd    o'    lots    o' 

prayers, 
An'  I've  listened  to  some  singin' 

Dat  has  tuck  me  up  de  stairs 
Of  de  Glory-Lan'  an'  set  me 

Jes'  below  de  Mastah's  th'one, 
An'  have  lef  my  hea't  a-singin' 

In  a  happy  aftah  tone; 
But   dem  wu'ds  so  sweetly  mur- 
mured 

Seem  to  tech  de  softes'  spot, 
When  my  mammy  says  de  blessin', 

An'  de  co'n  pone  's  hot. 


BALLAD 

I  KNOW  my  love  is  true, 
And  oh  the  day  is  fair. 

The  sky  is  clear  and  blue, 

The  flowers  are  rich  of  hue, 
The  air  I  breathe  is  rare, 
I  have  no  grief  or  care; 

For  my  own  love  is  true, 
And  oh  the  day  is  fair. 

My  love  is  false  I  find, 

And  oh  the  day  is  dark. 
Blows  sadly  down  the  wind, 
While  sorrow  holds  my  mind ; 

I  do  not  hear  the  lark, 

For     quenched     is     life's     dear 

spark, — 
My  love  is  false  I  find, 

And  oh  the  day  is  dark! 


For  love  doth  make  the  day 
Or  dark  or  doubly  bright; 

Her  beams  along  the  way 

Dispel  the  gloom  and  gray. 
She  lives  and  all  is  bright, 
She  dies  and  life  is  night. 

For  love  doth  make  the  day, 
Or  dark  or  doubly  bright. 


THE  CHANGE  HAS  COME 

THE  change  has  come,  and  Helen 

sleeps  — 
Not  sleeps;  but  wakes  to  greater 

deeps 
Of   wisdom,    glory,    truth,    and 

light, 
Than  ever  blessed   her  seeking 

sight, 
In    this    low,    long,    lethargic 

night, 

Worn  out  with  strife 
Which  men  call  life. 

The   change  has  come,   and   who 

would  say 

"  I   would   it  were   not   come   to- 
day"? 

What  were   the  respite  till  to- 
morrow ? 

Postponement  of  a  certain  sor- 
row, 
From   which   each   passing   day 

would  borrow ! 
Let  grief  be  dumb, 
The  change  has  come. 


[58] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


COMPARISON 

THE  sky  of  brightest  gray  seems 

dark 
To    one    whose    sky    was    ever 

white. 

To  one  who  never  knew  a  spark, 
Thro'    all   his   life,   of   love   or 

light, 

The  grayest  cloud  seems  over- 
bright. 

The  robin  sounds  a  beggar's  note 
Where  one  the  nightingale  has 

heard, 

But  he  for  whom  no  silver  throat 
Its  liquid  music  ever  stirred, 
Deems   robin   still  the  sweetest 
bird. 


A   CORN-SONG 

ON  the  wide  veranda  white, 
In  the  purple  failing  light, 

Sits  the  master  while  the  sun  is 
lowly  burning; 

And     his     dreamy     thoughts     are 
drowned 

In  the  softly  flowing  sound 

Of    the    corn-songs    of    the    field- 
hands  slow  returning. 

Oh,  we  hoe  de  co'n 

Since  de  ehly  mo'n; 
Now  de  sinkin'  sun 
Says  de  day  is  done. 


O'er  the  fields  with  heavy  tread, 
Light  of  heart  and  high  of  head, 


Though  the  halting  steps  be  la- 
bored, slow,  and  weary; 

Still  the  spirits  brave  and  strong 

Find  a  comforter  in  song, 

And  their  corn-song  rises  ever 
loud  and  cheery. 

Oh,  we  hoe  de  co'n  • 
Since  de  ehly  mo'n; 
Now  de  sinkin'  sun 
Says  de  day  is  done. 

To  the  master  in  his  seat, 
Comes  the  burden,  full  and  sweet, 
Of  the  mellow  minor  music  grow- 
ing clearer, 

As  the  toilers  raise  the  hymn, 
Thro'  the  silence  dusk  and  dim, 
To     the    cabin's     restful     shelter 
drawing  nearer. 

Oh,  we  hoe  de  co'n 
Since  de  ehly  mo'n; 
Now  de  sinkin'  sun 
Says  de  day  is  done. 

And  a  tear  is  in  the  eye 
Of  the  master  sitting  by, 
As  he  listens  to  the  echoes  low- 
replying 

To  the  music's  fading  calls 
As  it  faints  away  and  falls 
Into  silence,  deep  within  the  cabin 
dying. 

Oh,  we  hoe  de  co'n 
Since  de  ehly  mo'n; 
Now  de  sinkin'  sun 
Says  de  day  is  done. 


[59] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


DISCOVERED 

SEEN    you    down    at    chu'ch    las' 
night, 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 
What  I  mean  ?  oh,  dat  's  all  right, 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 
You  was  sma't  ez  sma't  could  be, 
But  you  could  n't  hide  f  om  me. 
Ain't  I  got  two  eyes  to  see! 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 

Guess   you   thought   you 's   awful 
keen; 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 
Evahthing  you  done,  I  seen; 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 
Seen  him  tek  yo'  ahm  jes'  so, 
When  he  got  outside  de  do'  — 
Oh,  I  know  dat  man  's  yo'  beau ! 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 

Say  now,  honey,  wha  'd  he  say  ?  — 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy! 
Keep      yo'      secrets  —  dat 's      yo' 

way  — 

Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy. 
Won't  tell  me  an'  I'm  yo'  pal  — 
I'm  gwine  tell  his  othah  gal,  — 
Know  huh,  too,  huh  name  is  Sal; 
Nevah  min',  Miss  Lucy! 


DISAPPOINTED 

AN  old  man  planted  and  dug  and 
tended, 


Toiling    in    joy    from    dew    to 

dew; 
The  sun  was  kind,  and  the  rain 

befriended ; 
Fine  grew  his  orchard  and  fair 

to  view. 
Then  he  said :  "  I  will  quiet  my 

thrifty  fears, 
For  here  is  fruit  for  my  failing 

years." 

But    even    then    the   storm-clouds 

gathered, 

Swallowing  up  the  azure  sky; 
The   sweeping   winds   into   white 

foam  lathered 
The  placid   breast  of  the  bay, 

hard  by; 
Then  the  spirits  that  raged  in  the 

darkened  air 
Swept  o'er  his  orchard  and  left  it 

bare. 

The  old  man  stood  in  the  rain,  un- 
caring, 

Viewing  the  place  the  storm  had 
swept ; 

And  then  with  a  cry  from  his  soul 

despairing, 

He    bowed    him    down    to    the 
earth  and  wept. 

But  a  voice  cried  aloud  from  the 
driving  rain; 

"Arise,     old     man,     and     plant 
again !  " 


[60] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


INVITATION  TO  LOVE 

COME  when  the  nights  are  bright 

with  stars 

Or  when  the  moon  is  mellow ; 
Come   when   the   sun   his   golden 

bars 

Drops  on  the  hay-field  yellow. 
Come    in    the    twilight    soft    and 

gray, 
Come  in  the  night  or  come  in  the 

day, 

Come,  O  love,  whene'er  you  may, 
And  you  are  welcome,  welcome. 

You  are  sweet,  O  Love,  dear 
Love, 

You  are  soft  as  the  nesting  dove. 

Come  to  my  heart  and  bring  it  rest 

As  the  bird  flies  home  to  its  wel- 
come nest. 

Come  when  my  heart  is  full  of 

grief 

Or  when  my  heart  is  merry; 
Come  with  the  falling  of  the  leaf 
Or  with  the  redd'ning  cherry. 
Come  when   the  year's  first  blos- 
som blows, 
Come   when   the   summer   gleams 

and  glows, 
Come  with   the  winter's   drifting 

snows, 
And  you  are  welcome,  welcome. 


HE  HAD  HIS  DREAM 

HE     had     his     dream,     and     all 

through  life, 
Worked  up  to  it  through  toil  and 

strife. 

Afloat  fore'er  before  his  eyes, 
It  colored  for  him  all  his  skies: 

The  storm-cloud  dark 

Above  his  bark, 

The  calm  and  listless  vault  of  blue 
Took  on  its  hopeful  hue, 
It  tinctured  every  passing  beam  — 

He  had  his  dream. 

He  labored  hard  and  failed  at  last, 
His   sails   too   weak   to   bear   the 

blast, 

The  raging  tempests  tore  away 
And  sent  his  beating  bark  astray. 
But  what  cared  he 
For  wind  or  sea! 
He  said,   "  The   tempest  will   be 

short, 

My  bark  will  come  to  port." 
He   saw   through   every   cloud    a 

gleam  — 
He  had  his  dream. 


GOOD-NIGHT 

THE  lark  is  silent  in  his  nest, 
The    breeze    is    sighing    in    its 

flight, 
Sleep,  Love,  and  peaceful  be  thy 

rest. 

Good-night,     my     love,     good- 
night, good-night. 

[61] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Sweet  dreams  attend  thee  in  thy  'T  ain't    no    possum!     Bless    de 

sleep,  Lamb ! 

To   soothe   thy   rest   till  morn-  Yes,  it  is,  you  rascal,  Sam! 

ing's  light, 

And  angels  round  thee  vigil  keep.  Gin  it  to  me;  whut  you  say? 

Good-night,     my     love,     good-  Ain't    you    sma't    now!     Oh,    go 
night,  good-night.  'way! 

Possum  do  look  mighty  nice, 

Sleep   well,    my   love,    on   night's  But  you  ax  too  big  a  price. 

dark  breast, 

And  ease  thy  soul  with  slumber  Tdl  mCj  |s  you  talkin>  tnje> 

bright>  Dat's  de  gal's  whut  ma'ies  you? 
Be  joy  but  thine  and  I  am  blest. 


Good-night,     my     love,     good- 
night, good-night. 


Come    back,    Sam ;    now    whah  's 

you  gwine? 
Co'se    you    knows    dat    possum's 

mine! 


A  COQUETTE  CON- 
QUERED 

NORA:  A  SERENADE 
YES,  my  ha  t  s  ez  ha  d  ez  stone  — 

Go  'way,  Sam,  an'  lemme  'lone.          AH,    Nora,    my    Nora,    the    light 
No;    I    ain't    gwine    change    my 

min'  — 
Ain't  gwine  ma'y  you  — •  nuffin'  de 


kin'. 

Phiny  loves  you  true  an'  deah? 
Go  ma'y  Phiny;  whut  I  keer? 
Oh,  you  need  n't  mou'n  an'  cry  — 
I  don't  keer  how  soon  you  die. 

Got  a  present!     Whut  you  got? 
Somef 'n  f u'  de  pan  er  pot ! 
Huh !  yo'  sass  do  sholy  beat  — 
Think  I  don't  git  'nough  to  eat? 


Whut 's  dat  un'neaf  yo'  coat? 
Looks  des  lak  a  little  shoat. 


fades  away, 
While  Night  like  a  spirit  steals 

up  o'er  the  hills; 
The  thrush  from  his  tree  where  he 

chanted  all  day, 
No  longer  his  music  in  ecstasy 

trills. 

Then,  Nora,  be  near  me ;  thy  pres- 
ence doth  cheer  me, 
Thine  eye  hath  a  gleam  that  is 
truer  than  gold. 

I  cannot  but  love  thee;  so  do  not 

reprove  me, 

If  the   strength   of  my  passion 
should  make  me  too  bold. 


[62] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Nora,  pride  of  my  heart  —  Spends   all   her   wealth   in   gaudy 

Rosy   cheeks,   cherry  lips,   spar-  dress, 

kling  with  glee, —  And  decks  herself  in  garments 

Wake   from   thy   slumbers,   wher-  bold 

ever  thou  art;  Of    scarlet,    purple,    red,    and 

Wake    from    thy    slumbers    to  gold. 

me. 

She    heedeth    not    how    swift    the 

Ah,  Nora,  my  Nora,  there's  love  hours   fl^ 

.1        •  But  smiles  and  sings  her  happy 
in  tne  air, — 

It    stirs    in    the    numbers    that  llfe  alonS>' 

thrill  in  my  brain;  She  only  sees  above  a  shinInS  sk^ 

Oh,  sweet,  sweet  is  love  with  its  She  only  hears  the  breezes'  voice 

mingling  of  care,  in  sonS- 

Though  joy  travels  only  a  step  Her  garments  trail  the  woodlands 

before  pain.  through, 

Be  roused  from  thy  slumbers  and  And  Sather  Pearls  of  early  dew 

list  to  my  numbers;  That   sParkle>    d11    the    r°SuIsh 

My   heart   is  poured   out   in   this  $un 

song  unto  thee.  Creeps  up  and  steals  them  every 

Oh,  be  thou  not  cruel,  thou  treas-  one* 

ure,  thou  jewel; 

Turn  thine  ear  to  my  pleading  But   wlf  ,cares  ,she    that  Jewels 

and  hearken  to  me.  Wu         ,       /  If'      •    K 

When   all   or   JNatures  bounte- 
ous wealth  is  hers? 

OCTOBER  Though     princely     fortunes     may 

have  been  their  cost, 

OCTOBER  is  the  treasurer  of  the  Not    one    regret    her    calm    de- 
year,  meanor  stirs. 
And  all  the  months  pay  bounty  Whole-hearted,     happy,     careless, 

to  her  store ;  free, 

The  fields  and  orchards  still  their  She  lives  her  life  out  joyously, 

tribute  bear,  Nor  cares  when  Frost  stalks  o'er 

And   fill   her   brimming   coffers  her  way 

more  and  more.  Aud  turns  her  auburn  locks  to 

But  she,  with  youthful  lavishness,  gray- 

[63] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


A  SUMMER'S  NIGHT 

THE  night  is  dewy  as  a  maiden's 

mouth, 
The  skies  are  bright  as  are  a 

maiden's  eyes, 
Soft   as  a  maiden's  breath   the 

wind  that  flies 
Up  from  the  perfumed  bosom  of 

the  South. 
Like  sentinels,  the  pines  stand  in 

the  park; 
And  hither  hastening,  like  rakes 

that  roam, 

With  lamps  to  light  their  way- 
ward footsteps  home, 
The  fireflies  come  stagg'ring  down 
the  dark. 


SHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE 
NIGHT 

OUT   in  the  sky  the  great  dark 

clouds  are  massing; 
I  look  far  out  into  the  pregnant 
night, 

Where  I  can  hear  a  solemn  boom- 
ing gun 

And   catch   the  gleaming  of  a 
random  light, 

That  tells  me  that  the  ship  I  seek 
is  passing,  passing. 

My   tearful   eyes   my  souPs   deep 

hurt  are  glassing; 
For  I  would  hail  and  check  that 
ship  of  ships. 


I  stretch  my  hands  imploring,  cry 

aloud, 
My  voice  falls  dead  a  foot  from 

mine  own  lips, 
And  but  its  ghost  doth  reach  that 

vessel,  passing,  passing. 

O  Earth,  O  Sky,  O  Ocean,  both 

surpassing, 
O  heart  of  mine,  O  soul  that 

dreads  the  dark! 
Is  there  no  hope  for  me  ?     Is  there 

no  way 
That  I  may  sight  and  check  that 

speeding  bark 
Which  out  of  sight  and  sound  is 

passing,  passing? 

THE  DELINQUENT 

GOO'-BY,  Jinks,  I  got  to  hump, 
Got  to  mek  dis  pony  jump; 
See  dat  sun  a-goin'  down 
'N'  me  a-foolin'  hyeah  in  town! 
Git  up,  Suke  —  go  long! 

Guess  Mirandy'll  think  Fs  tight, 
Me  not  home  an'  comin'  on  night. 
What 's  dat  stan'in*  by  de  fence  ? 
Pshaw!   why   don't   I    lu'n   some 

sense  ? 
Git  up,  Suke  —  go  long! 

Guess  I  spent  down  dah  at  Jinks' 
Mos'  a  dollah  fur  de  drinks. 
Bless  yo'r  soul,  you  see  dat  star? 
Lawd,  but  won't  Mirandy  rar? 
Git  up,  Suke  —  go  long! 


[64] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Went  dis  mo'nin',  hyeah  it 's  night, 
Dah  's  de  cabin  dah  in  sight. 
Who  's  dat  stan'in'  in  de  do'  ? 
Dat  must  be  Mirandy,  sho', 
Git  up,  Suke  —  go  long! 

Got  de  close-stick  in  huh  han', 
Dat  look  funny,  goodness  Ian', 
Sakes  alibe,  but  she  look  glum! 
Hyeah,  Mirandy,  hyeah  I  come! 
Git  up,  Suke  —  go  long ! 

Ef  't  had  n't  a'  b'en  fur  you,  you 
slow  ole  fool,  I  'd  a'  be'n  home 
long  fo'  now! 


DAWN 

AN  angel,  robed  in  spotless  white, 
Bent  down  and  kissed  the  sleeping 

Night. 
Night  woke  to  blush;  the  sprite 

was  gone. 
Men  saw  the  blush  and  called  it 

Dawn. 


A  DROWSY  DAY 

THE  air  is  dark,  the  sky  is  gray, 
The   misty   shadows   come   and 

go, 

And  here  within  my  dusky  room 
Each   chair   looks   ghostly   in    the 

gloom. 

Outside  the  rain  falls  cold  and 
slow  — 


Half-stinging  drops,  half-blinding 
spray. 

Each  slightest  sound  is  magnified, 
For    drowsy    quiet    holds    her 

reign  ; 
The   burnt  stick   in   the   fireplace 

breaks, 
The     nodding     cat     with     start 

awakes, 
And    then    to    sleep    drops    off 

again, 
Unheeding  Towser  at  her  side. 

I  look  far  out  across  the  lawn, 
Where  huddled  stand  the  silly 

sheep  ; 

My  work  lies  idle  at  my  hands, 
My  thoughts  fly  out  like  scattered 

strands 
Of  thread,  and  on  the  verge  of 

sleep  — 
Still   half   awake  —  I   dream   and 

yawn. 

What  spirits  rise  before  my  eyes! 

How  various  of  kind  and  form! 
Sweet  memories  of  days  long  past, 
The  dreams  of  youth  that  could 

not  last, 
Each  smiling  calm,  each  raging 

storm, 
That  swept  across  my  early  skies. 

Half  seen,  the  bare,  gaunt-fingered 

boughs 
Before  my  window  sweep  and 

sway, 
And  chafe  in  tortures  of  unrest. 


[65] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


My    chin    sinks    down    upon    my 

breast  ; 

I  cannot  work  on  such  a  day, 
But     only    sit     and     dream     and 

drowse. 


DIRGE 

PLACE  this  bunch  of  mignonette 
In  her  cold,  dead  hand; 

When  the  golden  sun  is  set, 
Where  the  poplars  stand, 

Bury  her  from  sun  and  day, 

Lay  my  little  love  away 
From  my  sight. 

She  was  like  a  modest  flower 

Blown  in  sunny  June, 
Warm  as  sun  at  noon's  high  hour, 

Chaster  than  the  moon. 
Ah,  her  day  was  brief  and  bright, 
Earth  has  lost  a  star  of  light; 
She  is  dead. 

Softly  breathe  her  name  to  me, — 

Ah,  I  loved  her  so. 
Gentle  let  your  tribute  be; 

None  may  better  know 
Her  true  worth  than  I  who  weep 
O'er  her  as  she  lies  asleep  — 
Soft  asleep. 


Lay  these  lilies  on  her  breast, 
They  are  not  more  white 

Than  the  soul  of  her,  at  rest 
'Neath  their  petals  bright. 

Chant  your  aves  soft  and  low, 


Solemn  be  your  tread  and  slow, — 
She  is  dead. 

Lay  her  here  beneath  the  grass, 

Cool  and  green  and  sweet, 
Where  the  gentle  brook  may  pass 

Crooning  at  her  feet. 
Nature's    bards    shall    come    and 

sing, 

And  the  fairest  flowers  shall  spring 
Where  she  lies. 

Safe  above  the  water's  swirl, 
She  has  crossed  the  bar ; 

Earth  has  lost  a  precious  pearl, 
Heaven  has  gained  a  star, 

That  shall  ever  sing  and  shine, 

Till  it  quells  this  grief  of  mine 
For  my  love. 


HYMN 

WHEN  storms  arise 
And  dark'ning  skies 

About  me  threat'ning  lower, 
To  thee,   O  Lord,   I  raise  mine 

eyes, 
To  thee  my  tortured  spirit  flies 

For  solace  in  that  hour. 


The  mighty  arm 
Will  let  no  harm 

Come  near  me  nor  befall  me; 
Thy  voice  shall  quiet  my  alarm, 
When   life's   great   battle   waxeth 
warm  — 

No  foeman  shall  appall  me. 

[66] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Upon  thy  breast  In   de  furrers  whah  de  co'n  was 

Secure  I  rest,  allus  wavin', 

From  sorrow  and  vexation;  Now  de  weeds  is  growin'  green 

No  more  by  sinful  cares  oppressed,  an'  rank  an'  tall  ; 

But  in  thy  presence  ever  blest,  An'    de   swallers   roun'    de   whole 

O  God  of  my  salvation.  place  is  a-bravin' 

Lak  dey  thought  deir  folks  had 

PREPARATION  allus  owned  it  all. 

THE  little  bird  sits  in  the  nest  and  An'  de  bl'§  house  stan's  a11  <luiet: 

sl-ngs  lak  an'  solemn, 

A  shy,  soft  song  to  the  morning  Not    a    blessed    soul    In    Pa'lor» 

light;  P°'cn>  erlawn; 

And  it  flutters  a  little  and  prunes  Not  a  Suest>  ner  not  a  ca'iaSe  le*' 

its  wings.  to  haul  'em> 

The  song  is   halting   and   poor  Fu>  de  ones  dat  turned  de  latch- 

and  brief,  strinS  out  air  g°ne- 

And  the  fluttering  wings  scarce  , 

stir  a  leaf-  banjo  s  voice  is  silent  in  de 

But    the    note    is    a    prelude    to  qua'ters, 

sweeter  things,  D    ain  t  ^a  hymn  ner  co'n-song 

And  the  busy  bill  and  the  flutter  „       ,   rmgm   m  de  air>* 

"  murmur  of  a  branch's  pass- 


Are    proving   the    wings    for    a 

bolder  flight!  Is  de  only  soun>   dat  breks  de 

stillness  dere. 

THE  DESERTED  PLAN-         Whah  's  de  da'kies,  dem  dat  used 
TATION  to  be  a-dancin' 

Evry  night   befo'   de   ole  cabin 
OH,  de  grubbin'-hoe  's  a-rustin'  in  do'  ? 

de  co'nah,  Whah  's  de  chillun,  dem  dat  used 

An'  de  plow  's  a-tumblin'  down  to  be  a-prancin' 

in  de  fiel',  Er  a-rollin'  in  de  san'  er  on  de 

While  de  whippo'will  's  a-wailin'  flo'  ? 

lak  a  mou'nah 

When  his  stubbo'n  hea't  is  try-     Whah  's  ole  Uncle  Mordecai  an' 
in'  ha'd  to  yieP.  Uncle  Aaron? 

[67] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Whah  's  Aunt  Doshy,  Sam,  an'  THE  SECRET 

Kit,  an'  all  de  res'? 

Whah  's  ole  Tom  de  da'ky  fiddlah,  WHAT  says  the  wlnd  to  the  wav' 

how's  he  farin'?  mS  trees? 

Whah  's  de  gals  dat  used  to  sing  What    sa?s    the    wave    to    the 

an'  dance  debes'?  nver? 

What  means  the  sigh  in  the  passing 

Gone!  not  one  o'  dem  is  lef  to  tell  breeze? 

de  story;  ^hy  do  ^e  rusnes  Quiver? 

Dey  have  lef'  de  deah  ole  place  Have  vou  not  heard  the  fainting 

to  fall  away.  cry 

Could  n't  one  o'  dem  dat  seed  it  in  Of  the  flowers  that  sal'd  "  Good- 

its  glory  bye,  good-bye"? 

Stay  to  watch  it  in  de  hour  of  T  . 

,        ->  J^ist  now  the  gray  dove  moans  and 

grieves 

T^      ,         i  r>  j      i      i        4.-  Under  the  woodland  cover; 

Dey  have  lef    de  ole  plantation  to  _  . 

,          n  List   to    the    drift   of    the    falling 

de  swailers,  . 

T,      .    .    ,,    .              ,           .n   ,  leaves, 
But  it  hols  in  me  a  lover  till  de 

I    ,m  List  to  the  wail  of  the  lover. 

T?  >  T  r  >  u      t.  •    j                   A  4.  Have  you  not  caught  the  message 

Fu   I  fin   hyeah  in  de  memory  dat  J 

,  „  heard 

f  oilers  AI      j     i                      11                  i 

Anj1       j             »j4.Ti       A  Already  by  wave  and  breeze  and 

All  dat  loved  me  an   dat  I  loved  \_;  * 

.     ,         ,  bird? 
in  de  pas  . 

Come,   come   away  to   the   river's 
So  I  11  stay  an   watch  de  deah  ole 


place  an'  tend  it  Come  in         £arly  morn;ng. 

Ez  I  used  to  in  de  happy  days      Come  when  the  gras§  ^ 

S°ne  b^  dank, 

Twcll    de    othah    Mastah    thinks          There  yQu  wfll  ^ 

it  's  time  to  end  it,  •      _ 

An'  calls  me  to  my  qua'ters  in     A  Wnt  .„  the  k{s$  of  fhe 

de  sky-  ing  air 

Of    the    secret     that    birds    and 
breezes  bear. 


[68] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


THE  WIND  AND  THE 

SEA 


At  many  a  crime  that  he  wot  of, 
Wherein  he  had  played  his  part. 


I  STOOD  by  the  shore  at  the  death  He  thought   of  the   gallant  ships 

of  day,  gone  down 
As  the  sun  sank  flaming  red ;  By  the  will  of  his  wicked  waves ; 
And  the  face  of  the  waters  that  And  he  thought  how  the  church- 
spread  away  yard  in  the  town 
Was  as  gray  as  the  face  of  the  Held     the     sea-made     widows' 
dead.  graves. 

And  I  heard  the  cry  of  the  wan-  The  wild  wind  thought  of  the  love 

ton  sea  he  had  left 

And   the  moan  of   the  wailing  Afar  in  an  Eastern  land, 

wind;  And  he  longed,  as  long  the  much 

For  love's  sweet  pain  in  his  heart  bereft, 

had  he,  For  the  touch  of  her  perfumed 

But  the  gray  old  sea  had  sinned.  hand. 


The  wind  was  young  and  the  sea  jn  his  w{nding  wail  and  his  deep- 
was  old,  heaved  sigh 
But    their    cries    went    up    to-  His  aching  grief  found  vent; 

gether;  While   the   sea   looked   up   at   the 

The  wind  was  warm  and  the  sea  bending  sky 

was  cold,  And  murmured:  "I  repent." 
For  age  makes  wintry  weather. 

But  e'en  as  he  spoke,  a  ship  came 

So  they  cried  aloud  and  they  wept  by, 

amain,  That     bravely     ploughed     the 

Till  the  sky  grew  dark  to  hear  main, 

it;  And   a  light  came  into   the  sea's 
And  out  of  its  folds  crept  the  misty 

rain, 

In   its   shroud,   like   a   troubled 
spirit. 


green  eye, 
And  his  heart  grew  hard  again. 


For   the   wind   was   wild   with   a 

hopeless  love, 
And  the  sea  was  sad  at  heart 


Then     he     spoke     to     the    wind: 

"  Friend,  seest  thou  not 
Yon  vessel  is  eastward  bound? 

Pray  speed  with  it  to  the  happy 
spot 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Where   thy  loved   one  may  be     To  hitch  up  my  nag  and  go  hur- 
found."  rying  down 

And  take  Katie  May  for  a  ride 
And  the  wind  rose  up  in  a  dear 

delight, 

And  after  the  good  ship  sped; 
But  the  crafty  sea  by  his  wicked 


might 
Kept  the  vessel  ever  ahead. 

ill  the  wind  grew  fierce  in  his 


into  town; 
For    bumpety-bump     goes     the 

wagon, 

But  tra-la-la-la  our  lay. 
There  's  joy  in  a  song  as  we  rattle 
along 

In  the  light  of  the  glorious  day. 
grew  nerce  in   nis 

desPafr>  A    coach    would    be    fine,    but    a 
And  white  on  the  brow  and  lip.  spring  wagon's  good; 

He  tore  his  garments  and  tore  his  My  jeans  are  a  match  for  Kate's 

'  gingham  and  hood; 

And  fell  on  the  flying  ship.  The  hills  take  us  up  and  the  vales 

take  us  down, 

And   the  ship   went   down,   for  a     But   what   matters   that?   we   are 
rock  was  there,  riding  to  town> 

And    bumpety-bump    goes    the 

wagon, 

But  tra-la-la-la  sing  we. 
There  's  never  a  care  may  live  in 
the  air 

That  is  filled  with  the  breath 
And  still  he  moans  from  his  bosom  of  our  gjee> 

hot 

Where  his  raging  grief  lies  pent,      And  after  we  Ve  started,  there  's 
And  ever  when  the  ships  come  not,  naught  can  repress 

The  thrill  of  our  hearts  in  their 

wild  happiness; 
The    heavens    may    smile    or    the 

heavens  may  frown, 
And  it 's  all  one  to  us  when  we  're 

riding  to  town. 
For     bumpety-bump     goes     the 


And     the    sailless    sea    loomed 

black; 
While  burdened   again   with   dole 

and  care, 
The  wind  came  moaning  back. 


The  sea  says :  "  I  repent." 


RIDING  TO  TOWN 


WHEN    labor    is    light    and    the 

morning  is  fair, 
I    find    it    a   pleasure   beyond    all 

compare 


wagon, 
But  tra-la-la-la  we  shout, 


[70] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


For  our  hearts  they  are  clear  and 

there  's  nothing  to  fear, 
And  we  Ve  never  a  pain  nor  a 
doubt. 

The  wagon  is  weak  and  the  road- 
way is  rough, 

And  tho'  it  is  long  it  is  not  long 
enough, 

For  mid  all  my  ecstasies  this  is  the 
crown 

To  sit  beside  Katie  and  ride  into 

town, 
When    bumpety-bump   goes   the 

wagon, 
But  tra-la-la-la  our  song; 

And  if  I  had  my  way,  I  'd  be  will- 
ing to  pay 

If  the  road  could  be  made  twice 
as  long. 


WE  WEAR  THE  MASK 

WE  wear  the  mask  that  grins  and 
lies, 

It  hides  our  cheeks  and  shades  our 
eyes,— 

This  debt  we  pay  to  human  guile; 

With  torn  and  bleeding  hearts  we 
smile, 

And  mouth  with  myriad  subtle- 
ties. 

Why  should  the  world  be  over- 
wise, 

In  counting  all  our  tears  and 
sighs  ? 

[71 


Nay,  let  them  only  see  us,  while 
We  wear  the  mask. 

We   smile,   but,  O    great   Christ, 
our  cries 

To  thee  from  tortured  souls  arise. 

We  sing,  but  oh  the  clay  is  vile 

Beneath   our   feet,    and   long   the 
mile ; 

But   let   the  world   dream   other- 
wise, 
We  wear  the  mask! 


THE  MEADOW  LARK 

THOUGH  the  winds  be  dank, 
And  the  sky  be  sober, 
And  the  grieving  Day 
In  a  mantle  gray 
Hath    let    her   waiting   maiden 

robe  her, — 
All  the  fields  along 
I  can  hear  the  song 
Of  the  meadow  lark, 

As  she  flits  and  flutters, 
And    laughs    at    the   thunder 

when  it  mutters. 
O  happy  bird,  of  heart  most 

py 

To  sing  when  skies  are  gray! 

When  the  clouds  are  full, 
And  the  tempest  master 
Lets  the  loud  winds  sweep 
From  his  bosom  deep 
Like  heralds  of  some  dire  disas- 
ter, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Then  the  heart  alone 
To  itself  makes  moan; 
And  the  songs  come  slow, 

While  the  tears  fall  fleeter, 
And  silence  than  song  by  far 

seems  sweeter. 
Oh,  few  are  they  along  the 

way 
Who    sing    when    skies    are 

gray! 


ONE  LIFE 

OH,    I    am    hurt    to    death,    my 

Love ; 
The  shafts  of  Fate  have  pierced 

my  striving  heart, 
And  I  am  sick  and  weary  of 

The  endless  pain  and  smart. 
My  soul  is  weary  of  the  strife, 
And  chafes  at  life,  and  chafes  at 
life. 

Time  mocks  me  with  fair  prom- 
ises; 

A  blooming  future  grows  a  bar- 
ren past, 

Like  rain  my  fair  full-blossomed 

trees 
Unburden  in  the  blast. 

The   harvest    fails   on    grain    and 
tree, 

Nor  comes  to  me,   nor  comes  to 
me. 

The  stream  that  bears  my  hopes 
abreast 


Turns   ever   from   my   way   its 

pregnant  tide. 
My  laden  boat,  torn  from  its  rest, 

Drifts  to  the  other  side. 
So  all  my  hopes  are  set  astray, 
And  drift  away,  and  drift  away. 

The  lark  sings  to  me  at  the  morn, 
And    near   me   wings   her    sky- 
ward-soaring flight; 
But  pleasure  dies  as  soon  as  born, 

The  owl  takes  up  the  night, 
And  night  seems  long  and  doubly 

dark; 
I  miss  the  lark,  I  miss  the  lark. 

Let  others  labor  as  they  may, 
I'll   sing    and    sigh    alone,    and 

write  my  line. 
Their  fate  is  theirs,  or  grave  or 

gay, 

And  mine  shall  still  be  mine. 
I  know  the  world  holds  joy  and 

glee, 
But  not  for  me, — 't  is  not  for  me. 


CHANGING  TIME 

THE  cloud  looked  in  at  the  win- 
dow, 

And  said  to  the  day,  "  Be  dark !  " 
And  the  roguish  rain  tapped  hard 

on  the  pane, 
To  stifle  the  song  of  the  lark. 

The  wind  sprang  up  in  the  tree 
tops 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And   shrieked   with   a  voice   of 

death, 
But  the  rough-voiced  breeze,  that 

shook  the  trees, 

Was    touched    with    a    violet's 
breath. 


DEAD 

A  KNOCK  is  at  her  door,  but  she 

is  weak  ; 
Strange    dews    have    washed    the 

paint     streaks     from     her 

cheek ; 
She    does   not    rise,    but,    ah,    this 

friend  is  known, 
And  knows  that  he  will  find  her 

all  alone. 
So  opens  he   the   door,   and  with 

soft  tread 
Goes    straightway    to    the    richly 

curtained  bed. 
His  soft  hand  on  her  dewy  head 

he  lays. 
A   strange   white   light   she    gives 

him  for  his  gaze. 
Then,  looking  on  the  glory  of  her 

charms, 
He  crushes  her  resistless  in  his 

arms. 

Stand   back!    look   not    upon   this 

bold  embrace, 
Nor    view    the    calmness    of    the 

wanton's  face; 
With  joy  unspeakable  and  'bated 

breath, 

[73 


She   keeps   her   last,   long  liaison 
with  death! 


A  CONFIDENCE 

UNCLE  JOHN,  he  makes  me  tired ; 
Thinks  'at  he's  jest  so  all-fired 
Smart,  'at  he  kin  pick  up,  so, 
Ever'thing  he  wants  to  know. 
Tried  to  ketch  me  up  last  night, 
But  you  bet  I  would  n't  bite. 
I  jest  kep'   the  smoothes'   face, 
But  I  led  him  sich  a  chase, 
Could  n't  corner  me,  you  bet — 
I  skipped  all  the  traps  he  set. 
Makin'  out  he  wan'ed  to  know 
Who  was  this  an'  that  girl's  beau; 
So  's  he  'd  find  out,  don't  you  see, 
Who  was  goin'  'long  with  me. 
But  I  answers  jest  ez  sly, 
An'  I  never  winks  my  eye, 
Tell  he  hollers  with  a  whirl, 
"  Look  here,  ain't  you  got  a  girl  ?  " 
Y'   ought   'o   seen   me   spread   my 

eyes, 

Like  he  'd  took  me  by  surprise, 
An'  I  said,  "  Oh,  Uncle  John, 
Never  thought  o'  havin'  one." 
An'  somehow  that  seemed  to  tickle 
Him  an'  he  shelled  out  a  nickel. 
Then  you  ought  to  seen  me  leave 
Jest  a-laffin'  in  my  sleeve. 
Fool  him  —  well,  I  guess  I  did; 
He  ain't  on  to  this  here  kid. 
Got  a  girl!  well,  I  guess  yes, 
Got  a  dozen  more  or  less, 
But  I  got 'one  reely  one, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Not  no  foolin'  ner  no  fun; 
Fur  I  'm  sweet  on  her,  you  see, 
An'  I  ruther  guess  'at  she 
Must  be  kinder  sweet  on  me, 
So  we  're  keepin'  company. 
Honest  Injun!  this  is  true, 
Ever'  word  I  'm  tellin'  you ! 
But  you  won't  be  sich  a  scab 
Ez  to  run  aroun'  an'  blab. 
Mebbe  't  ain't  the  way  with  you, 
But  you  know  some  fellers  do. 
Spoils  a  girl  to  let  her  know 
'At  you  talk  about  her  so. 
Don't  you  know  her?  her  name's 

Liz, 

Nicest  girl  in  town  she  is. 
Purty  ?  ah,  git  out,  you  gilly  — 
Liz  'ud  purt  'nigh  knock  you  silly. 
Y'   ought  'o  see  her  when  she 's 

dressed 

All  up  in  her  Sunday  best, 
All  the  fellers  nudgin'  me, 
An'   a-whisperin',   gemunee ! 
Betcher  life  'at  I  feel  proud 
When  she  passes  by  the  crowd. 
'T  's  kinder  nice  to  be  a-goin' 
With  a  girl  'at  makes  some  show- 


in 


One  you  know  'at  hain't  no  snide, 
Makes  you  feel  so  satisfied. 
An'  I  '11  tell  you  she  's  a  trump, 
Never  even  seen  her  jump 
Like  some  silly  girls  'ud  do, 
When  I  'd  hide  and  holler  "  Boo!  " 
She'd  jest  laff  an'  say  "Git  out! 
What  you  hollerin'  about?" 
When  some  girls  'ud  have  a  fit 


That  'un  don't  git  skeered  a  bit, 
Never  makes  a  bit  o'  row 
When  she  sees  a  worm  er  cow. 
Them  kind  's  few  an'  far  between; 
Bravest  girl  I  ever  seen. 
Tell  you  'nuther  thing  she  '11  do, 
Mebbe  you  won't  think  it 's  true, 
But  if  she  's  jest  got  a  dime 
She  '11  go  halvers  ever'  time. 
Ah,  you  goose,  you  needn't  laff; 
That 's  the  kinder  girl  to  have. 
If  you  knowed  her  like  I  do, 
Guess  you  'd  kinder  like  her  too. 
Tell  you  somep'n'  if  you  '11  swear 
You  won't  tell  it  anywhere. 
Oh,  you  got  to  cross  yer  heart 
Earnest,  truly,  'fore  I  start. 
Well,  one  day  I  kissed  her  cheek; 
Gee,  but  I  felt  cheap  an'  weak, 
'Cause  at  first  she  kinder  flared, 
'N',    gracious    goodness!    I    was 

scared. 

But  I  needn't  been,  fer  la! 
Why,  she  never  told  her  ma. 
That 's    what    I    call    grit,    don't 

you? 
Sich  a  girl 's  worth  stickin'  to. 


PHYLLIS 

PHYLLIS,  ah,  Phyllis,  my  life  is  a 

gray  day, 
Few  are  my  years,  but  my  griefs 

are  not  few, 
Ever  to  youth  should  each  day  be 

a  May-day, 


[74] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Warm  wind  and  rose-breath  and  Against  the  sallies  of  the  blast  ? 

diamonded  dew  —  Art   thou   not   sheltered   safe   and 
Phyllis,  ah,   Phyllis,  my  life  is  a  well 

gray  day.  Against  the  flood's  insistent  swell? 

Oh  for  the  sunlight  that  shines  on  What  boots  it,  that  thou  stand'st 

a  May-day!  alone> 

Only    the    cloud    hangeth    over  And  laughest  in  the  battle's  face 

my  ]{fe>  When  all  the  weak  have  fled  the 
Love  that  should  bring  me  youth's  place 

happiest  heyday  And  let  their  feet  and  fears  keeP 
Brings  me  but  seasons  of  sor-  pace. 

row  and  strife;  Thou    wavest    still    thine    ensign, 
Phyllis,   ah,   Phyllis,  my  life  is  a  high, 

gray  day.  And  shoutest  thy  loud  battle-cry; 

Higher     than     e'er     the     tempest 
roared, 


Sunshine  or  shadow,  or  gold  day 

or  gray  day, 

Life  must  be  lived  as  our  des- 
tinies rule; 

Leisure  or  labor  or  work  day  or 


It  cleaves  the  silence  like  a  sword. 
Right  arms  and  armors,  too,  that 


man 


play  day  — 
Feasts  for  the  famous  and  fun  wrong; 


Who    will    not    compromise   with 


for  the  fool; 

Phyllis,  ah,   Phyllis,  my  life  is  a 
gray  day. 


Though  single,  he  must  front  the 

throng, 
And    wage    the    battle    hard    and 

long- 
Minorities,    since   time   began, 
Have    shown    the    better    side    of 
RIGHT'S  SECURITY  man. 

WHAT  if  the  wind  do  howl  with-     And  often  in  the  lists  of  Time 

One  man  has  made  a  cause  sub- 
lime! 


out, 


And    turn   the   creaking   weather- 
vane; 

What  if  the  arrows  of  the  rain  jp 

Do  beat  against  the  window-pane? 

Art  thou  not  armored  strong  and      IF  life  were  but  a  dream,  my  Love, 
fast  And  death  the  waking  time; 

[75] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

If  day  had  not  a  beam,  my  Love,        A  something  in  the  tender  strain 
And  night  had  not  a  rhyme, —        Revived    an    old,    long-conquered 
A  barren,  barren  world  were  pain, 

this  And  as  in  depths  of  many  seas, 

Without  one  saving  gleam;         My  heart  was  drowned  in  mem- 
I  'd  only  ask  that  with  a  kiss  ories. 

You  'd    wake    me    from    the     The   tears   came   welling    to    my 
dream.  eyes, 

Nor  could  I  ask  it  otherwise; 
If    dreaming    were    the    sum    of      For»    oh!    a    sweetness    seems    to 

days,  last 

And  loving  were  the  bane;  Amid  the  dregs  of  sorrows  past. 

If  battling  for  a  wreath  of  bays 

Could  soothe  a  heart  in  pain, —      It   stirred    a   chord    that   here    of 
I  'd  scorn  the  meed  of  battle's  late 

might,  I  'd  grown  to  think  could  not  vi- 

All  other  aims  above  brate. 

I  'd  choose  the  human's  higher      It  brought  me  back  the  trust  of 

right,  youth, 

To  suffer  and  to  love!  The    world    again    was    joy    and 

truth. 
And     Avice,     blooming     like     a 

bride, 
Once  more  stood  trusting  at  my 

MY  soul,  lost  in  the  music's  mist,  s 

Roamed,  rapt,  'neath  skies  of  ame-      But  sdll>  wkh  bosom  desolate> 
tjl    t  The    lorn  bird   sang  to   find  his 

The  cheerless  streets  grew  summer  mate. 

meads, 

The  Son  of  Phoebus  spurred  his  Then  there   are   trees,   and  lights 

steeds,  and  stars, 

And,   wand'ring   down   the   mazy  The  silv'ry  tinkle  of  guitars; 

tune,  And  throbs  again  as  throbbed  that 
December  lost  its  way  in  June,  waltz, 

While    from    a    verdant    vale    I  Before   I   knew  that  hearts  were 

heard  false. 

The  piping  of  a  love-lorn  bird.  Then  like  a  cold  wave  on  a  shore, 

[76] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Comes  silence   and   she   sings   no 

more. 

I  wake,  I  breathe,  I  think  again, 
And  walk  the  sordid  ways  of  men. 


SIGNS  OF  THE  TIMES 

AIR  a-gittin'  cool  an'  coolah, 

Frost  a-comin'  in  de  night, 
Hicka'  nuts  an'  wa'nuts  fallin', 

Possum  keepin'  out  o'  sight. 
Tu'key  struttin'  in  de  ba'nya'd, 

Nary  step  so  proud  ez  his; 
Keep  on  struttin',  Mistah  Tu'key, 

Yo'  do'  know  whut  time  it  is. 

Cidah  press  commence  a-squeakin* 

Eatin'  apples  sto'ed  away, 
Chillun   swa'min'   'roun'   lak  ho'- 
nets, 

Huntin'  aigs  ermung  de  hay. 
Mistah  Tu'key  keep  on  gobblin' 

At  de  geese  a-flyin'  souf, 
Oomph !  dat  bird  do'  know  whut  Js 
comin'  ; 

Ef  he  did  he  'd  shet  his  mouf. 

Pumpkin  gittin'  good  an'  yallah 

Mek  me  open  up  my  eyes; 
Seems  lak  it 's  a-lookinj  at  me 

Jes'  a-la'in'  dah  sayin'  "Pies." 
Tu'key  gobbler  gwine  'roun'  blow- 
m', 

Gwine    'roun'    gibbin*   sass   an* 

slack ; 
Keep  on  talkin',   Mistah  Tu'key, 

You  ain't  seed  no  almanac. 


Fa'mer  walkin'  th'oo  de  ba'nya'd 

Seein'  how  things  is  comin'  on, 
Sees  ef  all  de  fowls  is  f att'nin'  — 

Good    times    comin'    sho  's   you 

bo'n. 

Hyeahs   dat   tu'key  gobbler  brag- 
gin', 

Den  his  face  break  in  a  smile  — 
Nebbah  min',  you  sassy  rascal, 

He  's  gwine  nab  you  atter  while. 

Choppin'  suet  in  de  kitchen, 
Stonin'  raisins  in  de  hall, 
Beef  a-cookin'  fu'  de  mince  meat, 
Spices  groun'  • —  I  smell  'em  all. 
Look    hyeah,    Tu'key,    stop    dat 

gobblin', 
You    ain'    luned    de    sense    ob 

feah, 

You  ol'  fool,  yo'  naik  's  in  dangah, 
Do'  you  know  Thanksgibbin  's 
hyeah  ? 

WHY  FADES  A  DREAM? 

WHY  fades  a  dream? 

An  iridescent  ray 
Flecked  in  between  the  tryst 

Of  night  and  day. 

Why  fades  a  dream?  — 
Of  consciousness  the  shade 
Wrought  out  by  lack  of  light  and 
made 

Upon  life's  stream. 

Why  fades  a  dream? 


That  thought  may  thrive, 
So  fades  the  fleshless  dream; 


[77] 


THE   COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Lest  men  should  learn  to  trust 

The  things  that  seem. 

So  fades  a  dream, 
That  living  thought  may  grow 
And  like  a  waxing  star-beam  glow 

Upon  life's  stream  — 

So  fades  a  dream. 

THE  SPARROW 

A    LITTLE    bird,    with     plumage 

brown, 

Beside  my  window  flutters  down, 
A  moment  chirps  its  little  strain, 
Ten  taps  upon  my  window-pane, 
And  chirps  again,  and  hops  along, 
To  call  my  notice  to  its  song; 
But  I  work  on,  nor  heed  its  lay, 
Till,  in  neglect,  it  flies  away. 

So  birds  of  peace   and  hope   and 

love 
Come    fluttering   earthward    from 

above, 

To  settle  on  life's  window-sills,  • 
And  ease  our  load  of  earthly  ills; 
But  we,  in  traffic's  rush  and  din 
Too  deep  engaged  to  let  them  in, 
With    deadened    heart    and    sense 

plod  on, 
Nor  know  our  loss  till  they  are 

gone. 

SPEAKIN'  O'  CHRISTMAS 

BREEZES  blowin'  middlin'  brisk, 
Snow-flakes  thro'  the  air  a-whisk, 
Fallin'  kind  o'  soft  an'  light, 


Not  enough  to  make  things  white, 
But  jest  sorter  siftin'  down 
So  's  to  cover  up  the  brown 
Of  the  dark  world's  rugged  ways 
'N'  make  things  look  like  holidays. 
Not     smoothed     over,     but     jest 

specked, 

Sorter  strainin'  fur  effect, 
An'  not  quite  a-gittin'  through 
What  it  started  in  to  do. 
Mercy  sakes!  it  does  seem  queer 
Christmas  day  is  'most  nigh  here. 
Somehow  it  don't  seem  to  me 
Christmas  like  it  used  to  be, — 
Christmas  with  its  ice  an'  snow, 
Christmas  of  the  long  ago. 
You  could  feel  its  stir  an'  hum 
Weeks  an*  weeks  before  it  come; 
Somethin'  in  the  atmosphere 
Told  you  when  the  day  was  near, 
Did  n't  need  no  almanacs ; 
That  was  one  o'  Nature's  fac's. 
Every  cottage  decked  out  gay  — 
Cedar  wreaths  an'  holly  spray  — 
An'    the    stores,    how    they    were 

drest, 

Tinsel  tell  you  could  n't  rest ; 
Every  winder  fixed  up  pat, 
Candy  canes,  an'  things  like  that; 
Noah's  arks,  an'  guns,  an'  dolls, 
An'  all  kinds  o'  fol-de-rols. 
Then  with  frosty  bells  a-chime, 
Slidin'  down  the  hills  o'  time, 
Right  amidst  the  fun  an'  din 
Christmas  come  a-bustlin'  in, 
Raised  his  cheery  voice  to  call 
Out  a  welcome  to  us  all  j 


[78] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Hale  and  hearty,  strong  an'  bluff, 
That  was  Christmas,  sure  enough. 
Snow  knee-deep  an'  coastin'  fine, 
Frozen  mill-ponds  all  ashine, 
Seemin'  jest  to  lay  in  wait, 
Beggin'  you  to  come  an'  skate. 
An'  you  'd  git  your  gal  an'  go 
Stumpin'  cheerily  thro'  the  snow, 
Feelin'     pleased     an'     skeert     an' 

warm 

'Cause  she  had  a-holt  yore  arm. 
Why,    when    Christmas   come   in, 

we 

Spent  the  whole  glad  day  in  glee, 
Havin'  fun  an'  feastin'  high 
An'  some  courtin'  on  the  sly. 
Bustin'  in  some  neighbor's  door 
An'  then  suddenly,  before 
He  could  give  his  voice  a  lift, 
Yellin'  at  him,  "  Christmas  gift." 
Now  sich  things  are  never  heard, 
"  Merry  Christmas  "  is  the  word. 
But  it 's  only  change  o'  name, 
An'  means  givin'  jest  the  same. 
There  's  too  many  new-styled  ways 
Now  about  the  holidays. 
I  'd  jest  like  once  more  to  see 
Christmas  like  it  used  to  be! 


LONESOME 

MOTHER  's  gone  a-visitin'  to  spend 

a  month  er  two, 
An',  oh,  the  house  is  lonesome  ez  a 

nest  whose  birds  has  flew 
To  other  trees  to  build  ag'in;  the 

rooms  seem  jest  so  bare 

[79 


That  the  echoes  run  like  sperrits 

from     the     kitchen     to     the 

stair. 
The   shetters   flap   more   lazy-like 

Jn  what  they  used  to  do, 
Sence  mother  's  gone  a-visitin'   to 

spend  a  month  er  two. 

We  Ve  killed   the   fattest  chicken 

an'    we've    cooked    her    to    a 

turn  ; 
We  Ve    made    the    richest    gravy, 

but  I  jest  don't  give  a  durn 
Fur  nothin'  'at  I  drink  er  eat,  er 

nothin'  'at  I  see. 
The   food   ain't   got   the   pleasant 

taste  it  used  to  have  to  me. 
They 's    somep'n'    stickin'    in    my 

throat   ez    tight   ez   hardened 

glue, 
Sence  mother 's  gone  a-visitin'  to 

spend  a  month  er  two. 

The  hollyhocks  air  jest  ez  pink, 

they  're  double  ones  at  that, 
An'  I  wuz  prouder  of  'em  than  a 

baby  of  a  cat. 
But    now    I    don't    go    near    'em, 

though  they  nod  an'  blush  at 

me, 
Fur  they  's  somep'n'  seems  to  gall 

me   in    their   keerless   sort   o' 

glee 
An*   all   their  fren'ly  noddin'   an' 

their  blushin'  seems  to  say : 
"  You  're    purty    lonesome,    John, 

old  boy,  sence  mother  's  gone 

away." 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


The  neighbors  ain't  so  fren'ly  ez  it  Tho'  it  ought  n't  to  cause  me  no 

seems  they  'd  ort  to  be ;  su'prise, 

They  seem  to  be  a-lookin'  kinder  Fur  there  's  many  a  sun  'at  you  Ve 

sideways  like  at  me,  seen  rise 

A-kinder   feared   they  'd    tech   me  An'  many  a  one  you  Ve  seen  go 

off  ez  ef  I  wuz  a  match,  down 

An'  all  because  'at  mother  's  gone  Sence  yore  step  was  light  an'  yore 

an'  I  'm  a-keepin'  batch !  hair  was  brown, 

I  'm    shore    I    don't    do    nothin'  An'    storms   an'    snows   have   had 

worse  'n  what  I  used  to  do  their  way  — 

'Fore    mother    went    a-visitin'    to  Hello,   ole   man,   you  're   a-gittin' 

spend  a  month  er  two.  gray. 

The  sparrers  ac's  more   fearsome  Hello,   ole   man,   you  're   a-gittin' 

like   an'   won't   hop   quite   so  gray, 

near,  An'   the  youthful  pranks   'at  you 
The  cricket's  chirp  is  sadder,  an'  used  to  play 

the  sky  ain't  ha'f  so  clear;  Are  dreams  of  a  far  past  long  ago 

When    ev'nin'    comes,    I    set    an'  That  lie  in  a  heart  where  the  fires 

smoke  tell  my  eyes  begin  to  burn  low  — 

swim,  That  has  lost  the  flame  though  it 
An'    things    aroun'    commence    to  kept  the  glow, 

look  all  blurred  an'  faint  an'  An'  spite  of  drivin'  snow  an'  storm, 

dim.  Beats   bravely   on    forever   warm. 

Well,  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  own  up  December     holds     the     place     of 

'at  I  'm  feelin'  purty  blue  May  — 

Sence  mother 's  gone  a-visitin'  to  Hello,    ole   man,    you  're   a-gittin' 


spend  a  month  er  two. 

GROWIN'    GRAY 

HELLO,  ole  man,  you  're  a-gittin' 
gray, 


gray. 

Hello,  ole  man,  you  're  a-gittin' 
gray  — 

Who  cares  what  the  carpin'  young- 
sters say? 

For,  after  all,  when  the  tale  is  told, 


An'  it  beats  ole  Ned   to  see  the      Love  proves  if  a  man  is  young  or 

way  old ! 

'At   the  crow's   feet 's  a-getherin'      Old  age  can't  make  the  heart  grow 


aroun   yore  eyes; 


cold 


[80] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

When  it  does  the  will  of  an  honest  She  loved  all  nature,  flowers  fair, 

mind ;  The  warmth  of  sun,  the  kiss  of  air, 

When  it  beats  with  love  fur  all  The  birds  that  filled  the  sky  with 

mankind ;  song, 

Then  the  night  but  leads  to  a  fairer  The  stream  that  laughed  its  way 

day  —  along. 

Hello,   ole   man,   you  're  a-gittin'  Her  home  to  her  was  shrine  and 

gray !  throne, 

But  one  love  held  her  not  alone; 
She  sought  out  poverty  and  grief, 

TO    THE    MEMORY    OF  Who  touched  her  robe  and  found 

MARY  YOUNG  relief- 

GOD  has  his  plans,  and  what  if  we  So    sped    she    in    her    Master's 

With  our  sight  be  too  blind  to  see  work, 

Their  full  fruition;  cannot  he,  Too  busy  and  too  brave  to  shirk, 

Who  made  it,  solve  the  mystery?  When   through   the  silence,   dusk 

One   whom   we   loved   has   fall'n  and  dim, 

asleep,  God  called  her  and  she  fled  to  him. 

Not  died;  although  her  calm  be  We  wonder  at  the  early  call, 

deep,  And  tears  of  sorrow  can  but  fall 

Some  new,  unknown,  and  strange  For  her  o'er  whom  we  spread  the 

surprise  pall ; 

In  Heaven  holds  enrapt  her  eyes.  But    faith,    sweet    faith,    is    over 

all. 
And  can  you  blame  her  that  her 

gaze  The   house   is   dust,   the   voice   is 

Is  turned  away  from  earthly  ways,  dumb, 

When  to  her  eyes  God's  light  and  But    through    undying    years    to 

love  come, 

Have    giv'n    the   view    of    things  The  spark  that  glowed  within  her 

above  ?  soul 

A  gentle  spirit  sweetly  good,  Shall    light   our   footsteps   to   the 

The  pearl  of  precious  womanhood ;  goal. 

Who    heard    the    voice    of    duty  She  went  her  way;  but  oh,   she 

clear,  trod 

And  found  her  mission  soon  and  The  path  that  led  her  straight  to 

near.  God. 

[81] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Such   lives   as   this   put   death   to 

scorn ; 
They  lose  our  day  to  find  God's 

morn. 


WHEN  MALINDY  SINGS 

G'WAY  an'   quit   dat   noise,   Miss 
Lucy  — 

Put  dat  music  book  away; 
What 's  de  use  to  keep  on  tryin'  ? 

Ef    you    practise    twell    you  're 

gray, 
You  cain't  sta't  no  notes  a-flyin' 

Lak  de  ones  dat  rants  and  rings 
F'om  de  kitchen  to  be  big  woods 

When  Malindy  sings. 

You  ain't  got  de  nachel  o'gans 

Fu'  to  make  de  soun'  come  right, 
You  ain't  got  de  tu'ns  an'  twistin's 

Fu'  to  make  it  sweet  an'  light. 
Tell    you    one   thing   now,    Miss 
Lucy, 

An'  I  'm  tellin*  you  fu'  true, 
When    hit    comes    to    raal    right 
singin', 

'T  ain't  no  easy  thing  to  do. 

Easy  'nough  fu'  folks  to  hollah, 

Lookin'  at  de  lines  an'  dots, 
When  dey  ain't  no  one  kin  sence  it, 

An'  de  chune  comes  in,  in  spots; 
But  fu'  real  melojous  music, 

Dat   jes'   strikes  yo'   hea't   and 

clings, 
Jes'  you  stan'  an'  listen  wif  me 

When  Malindy  sings. 


Ain't  you  nevah  hyeahd  Malindy? 

Blessed  soul,  tek  up  de  cross! 
Look     hyeah,     ain't     you     jokin', 

honey  ? 
Well,  you  don't  know  whut  you 

los'. 
Y'  ought  to  hyeah  dat  gal  a-wa'b- 

lin', 

Robins,  la'ks,  an'  all  dem  things, 
Heish    dey    moufs    an'    hides    dey 

facec, 
When  Malindy  sings. 

Fiddlin'  man  jes'  stop  his  fiddlin', 

Lay  his  fiddle  on  de  she'f ; 
Mockin'-bird  quit  tryin'  to  whistle, 

'Cause  he  jes'  so  shamed  hisse'f. 
Folks  a-playin'  on  de  banjo 

Draps     dey     fingahs     on     de 

strings  — 

Bless  yo'   soul  —  fu'gits   to   move 
em, 

When  Malindy  sings. 

She  jes'  spreads  huh  mouf  and  hol- 
lahs, 

"  Come    to    Jesus,"    twell    you 

hyeah 
Sinnahs'  tremblin'  steps  and  voices, 

Timid-lak  a-drawin'  neah; 
Den  she  tu'ns  to  "  Rock  of  Ages," 

Simply  to  de  cross  she  clings, 
An'  you  fin'  yo'  teahs  a-drappin' 

WTien  Malindy  sings. 

Who  dat  says  dat  humble  praises 
Wif  de  Master  nevah  counts? 

82] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Heish  yo'  mouf,  I  hyeah  dat  music, 
Ez  hit  rises  up  an'  mounts  — 

Floatin'  by  de  hills  an'  valleys, 
Way  above  dis  buryin'  sod, 

Ez  hit  makes  its  way  in  glory 
To  de  very  gates  of  God! 

Oh,  hit 's  sweetah  dan  de  music 

Of  an  edicated  band; 
An'  hit 's  dearah   dan   de  battle's 

Song  o'  triumph  in  de  Ian'. 
It  seems  holier  dan  evenin' 

When    de    solemn    chu'ch    bell 

rings, 
Ez  I  sit  an'  ca'mly  listen 

While  Malindy  sings. 

Towsah,    stop    dat   ba'kin',    hyeah 
me! 

Mandy,  mek  dat  chile  keep  still  ; 
Don't  you  hyeah  de  echoes  callin' 

F'om  de  valley  to  de  hill  ? 
Let  me  listen,  I  can  hyeah  it, 

Th'oo  de  bresh  of  angels'  wings, 
Sof    an'     sweet,     "  Swing    Low, 
Sweet  Chariot," 

Ez  Malindy  sings. 


THE  PARTY 

DEY     had     a     gread     big     pahty 

down    to    Tom's    de    othah 

night  ; 
Was  I  dah?     You  bet!     I  nevah 

in  my  life  see  sich  a  sight; 
All  de  folks  f'om  fou'  plantations 

was  invited,  an'  dey  come, 


Dey  come  troopin'  thick  ez  chillun 

when   dey  hyeahs  a  fife   an' 

drum. 
Evahbody     dressed     deir     fines' — 

Heish     yo'     mouf     an*     git 

away, 
Ain't  seen  no  sich  fancy  dressin' 

sence    las*    quah'tly    meetin' 

day; 
Gals  all  dressed  in  silks  an'  satins, 

not  a  wrinkle  ner  a  crease, 
Eyes  a-battin',  teeth  a-shinin',  haih 

breshed     back     ez     slick     ez 

grease ; 
Sku'ts   all   tucked   an'   puffed   an' 

ruffled,  evah  blessed  seam  an' 

stitch  ; 
Ef  you  'd  seen  'em  wif  deir  mistus, 

could  n't    swahed    to    which 

was  which. 

Men  all  dressed  up  in  Prince  Al- 
berts, swaller-tails  Vd  tek  yo' 

bref! 
I  cain't  tell  you  nothin'  'bout  it, 

y'  ought  to  seen  it  fu'  yo'se'f. 
Who   was   dah?     Now  who   you 

askin'?     How    you    'spect    I 

gwine  to  know? 
You     mus'     think     I     stood     an' 

counted  evahbody  at  de  do.' 
Ole  man  Babah's  house-boy  Isaac, 

brung  dat  gal,  Malindy  Jane, 
Huh  a-hangin'  to  his  elbow,  him 

a-struttinj  wif  a  cane; 
My,  but  Hahvey  Jones  was  jeal- 
ous! seemed  to  stick  him  lak 

a  tho'n; 


[83] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But  he  laughed  with  Viney  Cah- 

teh,  tryin'  ha'd  to  not  let  on, 
But   a   pusson   would    'a*   noticed 

f'om  de  d'rection  of  his  look, 
Dat  he  was  watchin'  ev'ry  step  dat 

Ike  an'  Lindy  took. 
Ike  he  foun'  a  cheer  an'  asked  huh : 

"  Won't  you  set  down  ?  "  wif 

a  smile, 
An'     she     answe'd     up     a-bowin', 

"  Oh,   I   reckon  't  ain't  wuth 

while." 
Dat  was  jes'  fu'  style,  I   reckon, 

'cause  she   sot   down   jes'    de 

same, 
An'    she    stayed    dah    'twell    he 

fetched  huh  fu'  to  jine  some 

so't  o'  game; 
Den  I  hyeahd  huh  sayin'  propah, 

ez  she  riz  to  go  away, 
"  Oh,   you   raly  mus'    excuse   me, 

fu'  I  hardly  keers  to  play." 
But  I  seen  huh  in  a  minute  wif  de 

othahs  on  de  flo', 
An'  dah  wasn't  any  one  o'   dem 

a-playin'  any  mo'; 
Comin'  down  de  flo'  a-bowin'  an' 

a-swayin'  an'  a-swingin', 
Puttin'   on   huh   high-toned   man- 

nahs  all  de  time  dat  she  was 

singin' : 
"  Oh,  swing  Johnny  up  an'  down, 

swing  him  all  aroun', 
Swing  Johnny  up  an'  down,  swing 

him  all  aroun', 
Oh,  swing  Johnny  up  an'  down, 

swing  him  all  aroun' 


Fa'  you  well,  my  dahlin'." 

Had  to  laff  at  ole  man  Johnson, 

he  's  a  caution  now,  you  bet  — 
Hittin'  clost  onto  a  hunderd,  but 

he  's  spry  an'  nimble  yet ; 
He  'lowed  how  a-so't  o'  gigglin', 

"  I  ain't  ole,  I  '11  let  you  see, 
D'ain't  no  use  in  gittin'  feeble,  now 

you    youngstahs    jes'     watch 

me," 
An'  he  grabbed  ole  Aunt  Marier 

—  weighs  th'ee  hunderd  mo' 

er  less, 
An'  he  spun  huh  'roun'  de  cabin 

swingin'  Johnny  lak  de  res'. 
Evahbody     laffed     an'     hollahed: 

"Go  it!   Swing   huh,   Uncle 

Jim!" 
An'  he  swung  huh  too,  I  reckon, 

lak    a    youngstah,    who    but 

him. 
Dat    was    bettah  'n    young    Scott 

Thomas,  tryin'  to  be  so  awful 

smaht. 
You  know  when  dey  gits  to  singin' 

an'  dey  comes  to  dat  ere  paht : 
"  In  some  lady's  new  brick 
house, 

In  some  lady's  gyahden. 
Ef  you  don't  let  me  out,  I 
will  jump  out, 

So  fa'  you  well,  my  dahlin'." 
Den  dey  's  got  a  circle  'roun'  you, 

an'    you 's    got    to    break    de 

line  ; 
Well,  dat  dahky  was  so  anxious, 

lak  to  bust  hisse'f  a-tryin'; 


[84] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Kep'     on     blund'rin'     'roun*     an' 

foolin'     'twell    he    giv'    one 

gread  big  jump, 
Broke  de  line,  an  lit  head-fo'most 

in  de  fiah-place  right  plump; 
Hit  'ad  fiah  in  it,  mind  you;  well, 

I  thought  my  soul  I  'd  bust, 
Tried  my  best  to  keep  f'om  laffin', 

but    hit    seemed    like    die    I 

must! 
Y'  ought  to  seen  dat  man  a-scram- 

blin'   f'om    de    ashes    an'    de 

grime. 
Did  it  bu'n  him!     Sich  a  question, 

why  he  did  n't  give  it  time ; 
Th'ow'd  dem  ashes  and  dem  cin- 

dahs     evah     which-a-way     I 

guess, 
An'  you  nevah  did,  I  reckon,  clap 

yo'  eyes  on  sich  a  mess; 
Fu'  he  sholy  made  a  picter  an'  a 

funny  one  to  boot, 
Wif  his  clothes  all  full  o'  ashes 

an'  his  face  all  full  o'  soot. 
Well,    hit    laked    to    stopped    de 

pahty,    an'    I    reckon    lak   ez 

not 
Dat    it    would    ef    Tom's    wife, 

Mandy,  had  n't  happened  on 

de  spot, 
To  invite  us  out  to  suppah  —  well, 

we  scrambled  to  de  table, 
An'  I  'd  lak  to  tell  you  'bout  it  — 

what  we   had  —  but   I   ain't 

able, 
Mention  jes'  a  few  things,  dough 

I  know  I  had  n't  orter, 


Fu'  I  know  't  will  staht  a  hank'rin* 

an'    yo'    mouf  '11    'mence    to 

worter. 

We  had  wheat  bread  white  ez  cot- 
ton an'   a  egg  pone  jes  like 

gol', 
Hog  jole,  bilin'  hot  an'   steamin' 

roasted  shoat  an'  ham  sliced 

cold  — 
Look  out !    What 's  de  mattah  wif 

you?     Don't  be  fallin'  on  de 

flo'; 
Ef  it 's  go'n'  to  'feet  you  dat  way, 

I     won't     tell     you     nothin' 

mo'. 
Dah    now  —  well,    we    had    hot 

chittlin's  —  now  you  's  tryin' 

ag'in  to  fall, 
Cain't  you  stan'  to  hyeah  about  it? 

S'pose  you'd  been  an'  seed  it 

all; 
Seed  dem  gread  big  sweet  pertaters, 

layin'  by  de  possum's  side, 
Seed   dat   coon   in   all   his   gravy, 

reckon    den    you  'd    up    and 

died! 
Mandy    'lowed    "  you    all    mus' 

'scuse    me,    d'    wa'n't    much 

upon  my  she'ves, 
But  I  's  done  my  bes'  to  suit  you, 

so      set      down      an'      he'p 

yo'se'ves." 
Tom,  he  'lowed :  "  I  don't  b'lieve 

in  'pologisin'  an'  perfessin', 
Let  'em  tek  it  lak  dey  ketch  it. 

Eldah     Thompson,     ask     de 

blessin'." 


[85] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Wish     you  'd     seed     dat     colo'ed 

preachah  cleah  his  th'oat  an' 

bow  his  head; 
One  eye  shet,  an'  one  eye  open, — 

dis  is  evah  wud  he  said: 
"  Lawd,    look    down    in    tendah 

mussy  on  sich  generous  hea'ts 

ez  dese; 
Make    us    truly    thankful,    amen. 

Pass     dat     possum,     ef     you 

please!" 
Well,    we    eat    and    drunk    ouah 

po'tion,     'twell    dah    wasn't 

nothin'  lef, 
An'  we  felt  jes'  like  new  sausage, 

we  was  mos'  nigh  stuffed  to 

def! 
Tom,    he   knowed   how   we  'd   be 

feelin',  so  he  had  de  fiddlah 

'roun', 
An'   he   made   us   cleah   de   cabin 

fu'     to     dance     dat     suppah 

down. 
Jim,  de  fiddlah,  chuned  his  fiddle, 

put     some     rosum     on     his 

bow, 
Set  a  pine  box  on  de  table,  mounted 

it  an'  let  huh  go! 
He  's  a  fiddlah,  now  I  tell  you,  an* 

he  made  dat  fiddle  ring, 
'Twell  de  ol'est  an'  de  lamest  had 

to  give  deir  feet  a  fling. 


Jigs,    cotillions,    reels    an'    break- 
downs, cordrills  an'  a  waltz 

er  two; 
Bless  yo'  soul,   dat  music  winged 

'em    an'    dem    people    lak    to 

flew. 
Cripple    Joe,    de    old    rheumatic, 

danced  dat  flo'   f'om  side  to 

middle, 
Th'owed    away    his    crutch     an' 

hopped  it ;  what 's  rheumatics 

'ginst  a  fiddle? 
Eldah   Thompson    got   so   tickled 

dat  he  lak  to  los'  his  grace, 
Had  to  tek  bofe  feet  an'  hoi'  dem 

so  's  to  keep  'em  in  deir  place. 
An'   de   Christuns  an'   de  sinnahs 

got  so  mixed  up  on  dat  flo', 
Dat  I  don't  see  how  dey  'd  pahted 

ef  de  trump  had  chanced  to 

blow. 
Well,  we  danced  dat  way  an'  ca- 

pahed   in    de   mos'    redic'lous 

way, 
'Twell  de  roostahs  in  de  bahnyard 

cleahed  deir  th'oats  an'  crowed 

fu'  day. 
Y'  ought  to  been  dah,  fu'  I   tell 

you   evahthing   was    rich    an* 

prime, 
An'  dey  ain't  no  use  in  talkin',  we 

jes  had  one  scrumptious  time! 


[86] 


LYRICS  OF  THE  HEARTHSIDE 


LOVE'S  APOTHEOSIS 

LOVE  me.     I  care  not  what  the 
circling  years 

To  me  may  do. 

If,  but  in  spite  of  time  and  tears, 
You  prove  but  true. 

Love  me  —  albeit  grief  shall  dim 
mine  eyes, 

And  tears  bedew, 
I  shall  not  e'en  complain,  for  then 
my  skies 

Shall  still  be  blue. 

Love  me,  and  though  the  winter 
snow  shall  pile, 

And  leave  me  chill, 
Thy  passion's  warmth  shall  make 
for  me,  meanwhile, 
A  sun-kissed  hill. 

And  when  the  days  have  length- 
ened into  years, 

And  I  grow  old, 

Oh,  spite  of  pains  and  griefs  and 
cares  and  fears, 

Grow  thou  not  cold. 

Then  hand  and  hand  we  shall  pass 
up  the  hill, 

I  say  not  down; 

That  twain  go  up,  of  love,  who  Ve 
loved  their  fill, — 

To  gain  love's  crown. 

[89] 


Love  me,  and  let  my  life  take  up 
thine  own, 

As  sun  the  dew. 

Come,  sit,  my  queen,   for  in  my 
heart  a  throne 

Awaits  for  you! 

THE  PARADOX 

I  AM  the  mother  of  sorrows, 
I  am  the  ender  of  grief; 

I  am  the  bud  and  the  blossom, 
I  am  the  late-falling  leaf. 

I  am  thy  priest  and  thy  poet, 
I  am  thy  serf  and  thy  king; 

I  cure  the  tears  of  the  heartsick, 
When   I   come  near  they  shall 
sing. 

White  are  my  hands  as  the  snow- 
drop ; 

Swart  are  my  fingers  as  clay; 
Dark   is   my    frown    as   the   mid- 
night, 
Fair  is  my  brow  as  the  day. 

Battle  and  war  are  my  minions, 
Doing  my  will  as  divine; 

I  am  the  calmer  of  passions, 
Peace  is  a  nursling  of  mine. 

Speak  to  me  gently  or  curse  me, 
Seek  me  or  fly  from  my  sight; 

I  am  thy  fool  in  the  morning, 
Thou  art  my  slave  in  the  night. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Down   to   the   grave  will   I   take      Daytime    or    night-time,    I    con- 

thee,  stantly  roving, — 

Out    from    the    noise    of    the          Dearest  one,  thou  art  my  star. 

strife  ; 
Then  shalt  thou  see  me  and  know 

me  — 
Death,  then,  no  longer,  but  life. 


WITH  THE  LARK 


NIGHT  is  for  sorrow  and  dawn  is 
Then  shalt  thou  sing  at  my  com-  for  joy, 

ing,  Chasing  the  troubles  that  fret  and 


Kiss  me  with  passionate  breath, 


annoy ; 


Clasp     me     and     smile    to     have  Darkness  for  sighing  and  daylight 

thought  me  for  song, — 

Aught     save     the     foeman     of  Cheery     and     chaste     the    strain, 

Death.  heartfelt  and  strong. 

All  the   night  through,  though   I 

Come  to  me,  brother,  when  weary,  moan  in  the  dark, 

Come    when    thy    lonely    heart  I   wake   in    the   morning   to   sing 

swells;  with  the  lark. 
I  '11  guide  thy  footsteps  and  lead 


thee          , 

Down  where  the  Dream  Wom- 
an dwells. 


OVER  THE  HILLS 
OVER  the  hills  and  the  valleys  of 


Deep    in    the    midnight    the    rain 

whips  the  leaves, 
Softly   and   sadly   the   wood-spirit 

grieves. 
But  when  the  first  hue  of  dawn 

tints  the  sky, 
I  shall  shake  out  my  wings  like 

the  birds  and  be  dry; 
And  though,  like  the  rain-drops,  I 

grieved  through  the  dark, 


dreaming 

Slowly  I  take  my  way. 

Life  is  the  night  with  its  dream-  I   shall  wake   in   the  morning  to 

visions  teeming,  sing  with  the  lark. 

Death  is  the  waking  at  day. 

On  the  high  hills  of  heaven,  some 
Down  thro'  the  dales  and  the  bow-  morning  to  be, 

ers  of  loving,  Where   the   rain   shall   not  grieve 
Singing,  I  roam  afar.  thro'  the  leaves  of  the  tree, 

[90] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


There  my  heart  will  be  glad  for 

the  pain  I  have  known, 
For  my  hand  will  be  clasped  in  the 

hand  of  mine  own ; 
And  though  life  has  been  hard  and 

death's  pathway  been  dark, 
I   shall  wake   in   the   morning  to 

sing  with  the  lark. 


IN  SUMMER 

OH,  summer  has  clothed  the  earth 
In   a  cloak    from   the   loom   of 

the  sun! 
And   a  mantle,   too,   of  the  skies' 

soft  blue, 
And  a  belt  where  the  rivers  run. 

And  now  for  the  kiss  of  the  wind, 
And  the  touch  of  the  air's  soft 

hands, 
With  the  rest  from  strife  and  the 

heat  of  life, 

With  the  freedom  of  lakes  and 
lands. 

I  envy  the  farmer's  boy 

Who   sings   as   he   follows   the 

plow  ; 
While   the   shining   green    of   the 

young  blades  lean 
To    the    breezes    that    cool    his 
brow. 


But  the  song  he  sings  is  a  chant 

for  kings 

And  the  whole  wide  world  to 
hear. 

He  sings  of  the  joys  of  life, 
Of  the  pleasures  of  work  and 

rest, 
From   an   o'erfull   heart,   without 

aim  or  art; 
'Tis  a  song  of  the  merriest. 

O  ye  who  toil  in  the  town, 
And  ye  who  moil  in  the  mart, 

Hear  the   artless   song,   and  your 

faith  made  strong 
Shall  renew  your  joy  of  heart. 

Oh,  poor  were  the  worth  of  the 

world 

If  never  a  song  were  heard, — 
If  the  sting  of   grief  had   no  re- 
lief, 
And  never  a  heart  were  stirred. 

So,  long  as  the  streams  run  down, 
And  as  long  as  the  robins  trill, 

Let    us    taunt    old    Care    with    a 

merry  air, 
And  sing  in  the  face  of  ill. 


He  sings  to  the  dewy  morn, 
No  thought  of  another's  ear; 


THE  MYSTIC  SEA 

THE  smell  of  the  sea  in  my  nos- 
trils, 

The  sound  of  the  sea  in  mine 
ears ; 

[91] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

The   touch   of   the   spray   on   my      And  a  fight  at  night  with  the  wild 

burning  face,  sea-sprite 

Like  the  mist  of  reluctant  tears.      When  the  foam  has  drowned  the 

stars. 

The  blue  of  the  sky  above  me,  And,  pray,  what  joy  can  the  lands- 

The    green    of    the    waves    be-  man  feei 

neath;  Like  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  sliding 
The  sun  flashing  down  on  a  gray-  keel? 

white  sail 

Like  a  scimitar  from  its  sheath.  Fair  is  the  mead;  the  lawn  is  fair 

And  the  birds  sing  sweet  on  the 
And  ever  the  breaking  billows,  lea>. 

And  ever  the  rocks'  disdain;  But  the  echo  soft  of  a  song  aloft 

And  ever  a  thrill  in  mine  inmost  Is  the  strain  that  pleases  me; 

heart  And   swish   of   rope   and   ring   of 
That  my  reason  cannot  explain.  chain 

Are  music  to  men  who  sail   the 
So  I  say  to  my  heart,  '  Be  silent,  main 

The  mystery  of  time  is  here; 
Death's  way  will  be  plain  when      Then,  if  you  love  me,  let  me  sail 

we  fathom  the  main,  While  a  vessel  dares  the  deep; 

And  the  secret  of  life  be  clear."      For  the  ship  's  my  wife,  and  the 

breath  of  life 

A  SAILOR'S  SONG  Are  the  raging  gales  that^ sweep; 

And  when   I  'm  done  with  calm 

OH   for  the  breath  of  the  briny  and  blast, 

deep,  A  slide  o'er  the  side,  and  rest  at 

And  the  tug  of  the  bellying  sail,  last. 
With  the  sea-gull's  cry  across  the 

sky 

And  a  passing  boatman's  hail.  THE  BOHEMIAN 
For,  be  she  fierce  or  be  she  gay, 

The  sea  is  a  famous  friend  alway.  BRING  me  the  livery  of  no  other 

man. 

Ho!    for    the    plains    where    the  I  am  my  own  to  robe  me  at  my 

dolphins  play,  pleasure. 

And   the   bend   of   the   mast   and  Accepted  rules  to  me  disclose  no 

spars,  treasure : 

[92] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


ABSENCE 


What  is  the  chief  who  shall  my      Here  let  me  rest  upon  this  single 

garments  plan  ?  hope, 

No  garb  conventional  but  I  '11      For  oh,  my  wings  are  weary  of  the 

attack  it.  wind, 

(Come,  why  not  don  my  span-      And  with  its  stress  no  more  may 
gled  jacket?)  strive  or  cope. 

One    cry    has    dulled    mine    ears, 

mine  eyes  are  blind, — 
Would  that  o'er  all  the  interven- 
GOOD-NIGHT,  my  love,  for  I  have  fng  space, 

dreamed  of  thee  I  might  fly  forth  and  see  thee  face 

In  waking  dreams,  until  my  soul  to  face. 

is  lost —  I  fly;  I  search,  but,  love,  in  gloom 

Is  lost  in  passion's  wide  and  shore-  J  grope. 

less  sea, 

Where,  like  a  ship,  unruddered,  it      Fly  home,  far  bird,  unto  thy  wait- 
is  tost  mg  nest; 
Hither   and    thither   at   the   wild      Spread  thy  strong  wings  above  the 

waves'  will.  wind-swept  sea. 

There  is  no  potent  Master's  voice      Beat  the  grim  breeze  with  thy  un- 
to still  ruffled  breast 
This    newer,     more     tempestuous      Until   thou   sittest  wing  to  wing 
Galilee!                                                    with  me. 

Then,   let   the  past  bring  up   its 
The  stormy  petrels  of  my  fancy  tales  of  wrong; 


fly 


We  shall  chant  low  our  sweet  con- 


HER  THOUGHT  AND  HIS 


In     warning    course     across     the  nubial  song, 

darkening  green,  Till  storm  and  doubt  and  past  no 

And,   like   a   frightened   bird,   my  more  shall  be! 

heart  doth  cry 

And  seek  to  find  some  rock  of  rest 
between 

The  threatening  sky  and  the  re-  THE  gray  of  the  sea,  and  the  gray 
lentless  wave.  of  the  sky, 

It  is  not  length  of  life  that  grief  A  glimpse  of  the  moon  like  a  half- 
doth  crave,  closed  eye. 

But  only  calm  and  peace  in  which  The  gleam  on  the  waves  and  the 
to  die.  light  on  the  land, 

[93] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


A  thrill  in  my  heart, —  and  —  my  When  they  have  lived  enough. 

sweetheart's  hand.  Men  court  not  death 

When  there  are  sweets  still  left  in 

one  turned   from   the  sea  with   a  j{fe  to  taste 

woman's  grace,  Nor  win  a  j^  man  choose  tQ 

And  the  light  fell  soft  on  her  Jfve  wnen  j1C) 

upturned  face,  Full  deeply  dru'nk  of  life>  has 

And  I  thought  of  the  flood-tide  of  reached  the  dregs> 

infinite  bliss  And  knows  that  now  but  bitter- 

That  would  flow  to  my  heart  from  ness  rema{ns> 


a  single  kiss. 


Pie  is  the  coward  who,   outfaced 


11S/ 

ife 
honor    him    who    being    much 


But  my  sweetheart  was  shy,  so  I      „ 

dared  not  ask  "life  *  °f 

For  the  boon,  so  bravely  I  wore 
the  mask. 

But  into  her  face  there  came  a     ^  ,  farassed 

flame. Drinks    of    sweet    courage    until 

I    wonder    could    she    have    been  drunk  of  it,— 

Ihen  seizing  Death,  reluctant,  by 

the  hand, 

Leaps  with  him,  fearless,  to  eter- 
nal peace! 


thinking  the  same  ? 


BEHIND  THE  ARRAS 


THE  RIGHT  TO  DIE 

I  HAVE  no  fancy  for  that  ancient 

cant 

That  makes  us  masters  of  our  des-  As  in  some  dim  baronial  hall  re- 

tinies,  strained, 

And  not  our  lives,  to  hold  or  give  A   prisoner   sits,    engirt   by   secret 

them  up  doors 

As  will  directs;  I  cannot,  will  not  And  waving  tapestries  that  argue 

think  forth 

That  men,  the  subtle  worms,  who  Strange    passages    into    the    outer 

plot  and  plan  air; 

And    scheme    and    calculate    with  So  in  this  dimmer  room  which  we 

such  shrewd  wit,  call  life, 

Are  such  great  blund'ring  fools  as  Thus  sits  the  soul  and  marks  with 

not  to  know  eye  intent 

[94] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


That  mystic  curtain  o'er  the  por- 
tal death; 

Still  deeming  that  behind  the 
arras  lies 

The  lambent  way  that  leads  to 
lasting  light. 

Poor  fooled  and  foolish  soul! 
Know  now  that  death 

Is  but  a  blind,  false  door  that  no- 
where leads, 

And  gives  no  hope  of  exit  final, 
free. 


WHEN  THE  OLD  MAN 
SMOKES 

IN  the  forenoon's  restful  quiet, 

When  the  boys  are  off  at  school, 
When     the     window     lights     are 

shaded 

And  the  chimney-corner  cool, 
Then  the  old  man  seeks  his  arm- 
chair, 

Lights  his  pipe  and  settles  back; 
Falls  a-dreaming  as  he  draws  it 
Till    the   smoke-wreaths   gather 
black. 


In   those  moods  of   silent   dream- 
ing 
When  the  old  man  smokes. 

Ah,  perhaps  he  sits  there  dream- 
ing 

Of  the  love  of  other  days 
And  of  how  he  used  to  lead  her 
Through     the     merry     dance's 

maze; 

How  he  called   her  "  little  prin- 
cess," 
And,    to    please    her,    used    to 

twine 
Tender    wreaths    to    crown    her 

tresses, 
From  the  "  matrimony  vine." 

Then  before  his  mental  vision 

Comes,  perhaps,  a  sadder  day, 
When  they  left  his  little  princess 

Sleeping  with  her  fellow  clay. 
How   his   young   heart    throbbed, 
and  pained  him! 

Why,  the  memory  of  it  chokes! 
Is  it  of  these  things  he  's  thinking 

When  the  old  man  smokes? 


And   the   tear-drops  come  a-trick-      But   some   brighter   thoughts  pos- 


ling 
Down     his     cheeks,     a     silver 

flow  — 

Smoke  or  memories  you  wonder, 
But  you  never  ask  him, —  no ; 
For  there  's  something  almost  sa- 
cred 
To  the  other  family  folks 


sess  him, 
For    the    tears    are    dried    the 

while. 

And  the  old,  worn  face  is  wrin- 
kled 

In  a  reminiscent  smile, 
From  the  middle  of  the  forehead 
To  the  feebly  trembling  lip, 


[95] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


At    some    ancient    prank    remem- 
bered 
Or  some  long  unheard-of  quip. 

Then  the  lips  relax  their  tension 

And  the  pipe  begins  to  slide, 
Till  in  little  clouds  of  ashes, 

It  falls  softly  at  his  side; 
And  his  head  bends  low  and  lower 

Till  his  chin  lies  on  his  breast, 
And  he  sits  in  peaceful  slumber 

Like  a  little  child  at  rest. 

Dear  old  man,  there  's  something 
sad'ning, 

In  these  dreamy  moods  of  yours, 
Since  the  present  proves  so  fleet- 
ing, 

All  the  past  for  you  endures. 
Weeping  at  forgotten  sorrows, 

Smiling  at  forgotten  jokes; 
Life  epitomized  in  minutes, 

When  the  old  man  smokes. 


THE  GARRET 

WITHIN  a  London  garret  high, 
Above  the  roofs  and  near  the  sky, 
My  ill-rewarding  pen  I  ply 

To  win  me  bread. 
This  little  chamber,  six  by  four, 
Is  castle,  study,  den,  and  more, — 
Altho'  no  carpet  decks  the  floor, 

Nor  down,  the  bed. 


My  room  is  rather  bleak  and  bare ; 
I  only  have  one  broken  chair, 
But  then,  there  's  plenty  of  fresh 
air, — 

Some  light,  beside. 
What  tho'  I  cannot  ask  my  friends 
To  share  with  me  my  odds  and 

ends, 
A  liberty  my  aerie  lends, 

To  most  denied. 

The  bore  who  falters  at  the  stair 
No  more  shall  be  my  curse  and 

care, 
And  duns  shall  fail  to  find  my  lair 

With  beastly  bills. 
When     debts    have    grown     and 

funds  are  short, 
I  find  it  rather  pleasant  sport 
To  live  "  above  the  common  sort  " 
With  all  their  ills. 

I  write  my  rhymes  and  sing  away, 
And  dawn  may  come  or  dusk  or 

day: 
Tho'   fare   be   poor,   my  heart   is 

gay, 

And  full  of  glee. 
Though   chimney-pots   be   all   my 

views  ; 
'T  is     nearer     for     the     winging 

Muse, 

So  I  am  sure  she  '11  not  refuse 
To  visit  me. 


[96] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


TO  E.  H.  K. 

ON    THE    RECEIPT    OF    A    FAMILIAR 
POEM 

To   me,   like   hauntings   of   a  va- 
grant breath 
From  some  far  forest  which  I 

once  have  known, 
The  perfume  of  this  flower  of 

verse  is  blown. 
Tho'  seemingly  soul-blossoms  faint 

to  death, 
Naught   that   with   joy   she   bears 

e'er  withereth. 
So,  tho'  the  pregnant  years  have 

come  and  flown, 

Lives    come    and    gone    and    al- 
tered like  mine  own, 
This  poem  comes   to   me   a  shib- 
boleth : 
Brings  sound  of  past  communings 

to  my  ear, 
Turns   round   the  tide  of   time 

and  bears  me  back 
Along  an   old   and  long  un- 

traversed  way; 
Makes  me  forget  this  is  a  later 

year, 

Makes  me  tread  o'er  a  reminis- 
cent track, 

Half  sad,   half  glad,   to  one 
forgotten  day! 

A  BRIDAL  MEASURE 

COME,  essay  a  sprightly  measure, 
Tuned    to    some    light    song    of 
pleasure. 


Maidens,    let    your    brows    be 

crowned 
As  we  foot  this  merry  round. 

From  the  ground  a  voice  is  sing- 
ing, 

From  the  sod  a  soul  is  springing. 
Who  shall  say  't  is  but  a  clod 
Quick'ning   upward   toward   its 
God? 


Who 


it  ?    Who    may 


shall    say 
know  it, 

That  the  clod  is  not  a  poet 
Waiting  but  a  gleam  to  waken 
In  a  spirit  music-shaken? 

Phyllis,  Phyllis,  why  be  waiting? 

In  the  woods  the  birds  are  mating. 
From  the  tree  beside  the  wall, 
Hear  the  am'rous  robin  call. 

Listen  to  yon  thrush's  trilling; 
Phyllis,  Phyllis,  are  you  willing, 

When    love    speaks    from    cave 
and  tree, 

Only  we  should  silent  be? 

When  the  year,  itself  renewing, 
All    the    world    with    flowers    is 

strewing, 
Then  through  Youth's  Arcadian 

land, 
Love  and  song  go  hand  in  hand. 

Come,  unfold  your  vocal  treasure, 

Sing  with  me  a  nuptial  measure, — • 

Let  this  springtime  gambol  be 

Bridal  dance  for  you  and  me. 


[97] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


VENGEANCE  IS  SWEET 

WHEN  I  was  young  I  longed  for 

Love, 

And  held  his  glory  far  above 
All  other  earthly  things.     I  cried: 
"  Come,  Love,  dear  Love,  with  me 

abide;" 

And  with  my  subtlest  art  I  wooed, 
And  eagerly  the  wight  pursued. 
But  Love  was  gay  and  Love  was 

shy, 
He  laughed  at  me  and  passed  me 

by. 

Well,  I  grew  old  and  I  grew  gray, 

When  Wealth  came  wending 
down  my  way. 

I  took  his  golden  hand  with  glee, 

And  comrades  from  that  day  were 
we. 

Then  Love  came  back  with  dole- 
ful face, 

And  prayed  that  I  would  give  him 
place. 

But,  though  his  eyes  with  tears 
were  dim, 

I  turned  my  back  and  laughed  at 
him. 


A  HYMN 

AFTER    READING     "  LEAD,     KINDLY 
LIGHT." 

LEAD  gently,  Lord,  and  slow, 
For  oh,  my  steps  are  weak, 

And  ever  as  I  go, 

Some  soothing  sentence  speak; 


That  I  may  turn  my  face 
Through  doubt's  obscurity 

Toward  thine  abiding-place, 
E'en  tho'  I  cannot  see. 

For  lo,  the  way  is  dark; 

Through  mist  and  cloud  I  grope, 
Save  for  that  fitful  spark, 

The  little  flame  of  hope. 

Lead  gently,  Lord,  and  slow, 
For  fear  that  I  may  fall; 

I  know  not  where  to  go 
Unless  I  hear  thy  call. 

My  fainting  soul  doth  yearn 
For  thy  green  hills  afar; 

So  let  thy  mercy  burn  — 
My  greater,  guiding  star! 


JUST  WHISTLE  A  BIT 

JUST  whistle  a  bit,  if  the  day  be 

dark, 

And  the  sky  be  overcast: 
If  mute  be  the  voice  of  the  piping 

lark, 
Why,  pipe  your  own  small  blast. 

And  it 's  wonderful  how  o'er  the 
gray  sky-track 

The  truant  warbler  comes  steal- 
ing back. 

But  why  need  he  come?  for  your 
soul  's  at  rest, 

And  the  song  in  the  heart, —  ah, 
that  is  best. 


[98] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  the  night  be  And  perhaps  't  would  be  best  in  a 

drear  later  day, 

And  the  stars  refuse  to  shine:  When  Death  comes  stalking  down 

And  a  gleam  that  mocks  the  star-  the  way, 

light  clear  To  knock  at  your  bosom  and  see 

Within  you  glows  benign.  if  you  're  fit, 

Then,    as   you   wait   calmly,   just 

Till   the   dearth   of   light   in   the  whistle  a  bit. 

glooming   skies 
Is  lost  to  the  sight  of  your  soul-lit 

eyes-  THE  BARRIER 
What  matters  the  absence  of  moon 

or  star?  THE  Midnight  wooed  the  Morn- 

The  light  within  is  the  best  by  far.  ing-Star, 

And   prayed  her :   "  Love  come 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  there  's  work  nearer  ; 

to  do  Your  swinging  coldly  there  afar 

With  the  mind  or  in  the  soil.  To  me  but  makes  you  dearer!  " 
And   your   note   will   turn   out  a 

talisman  true  The  Morning-Star  was  pale  with 

To  exorcise  grim  Toil.  dole 

As  said  she,  low  replying: 

It  will   lighten  your  burden   and  "  Oh,  lover  mine,  soul  of  my  soul, 

make  you  feel  For  you  I  too  am  sighing. 
That  there  's  nothing  like  work  as 

a  sauce  for  a  meal.  "  But    One    ordained    when    we 

And  with  song  in  your  heart  and  were  born, 

the  meal  in  —  its  place,  In  spite  of  Love's  insistence, 

There  '11  be  joy  in  your  bosom  and  That  Night  might  only  view  the 

light  in  your  face.  Morn 

Adoring  .at  a  distance." 
Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  your  heart 

be  sore;  But  as  she  spoke  the  jealous  Sun 

'Tis  a  wonderful  balm  for  pain.  Across  the  heavens  panted. 

Just   pipe    some   old    melody   o'er  "  Oh,    whining    fools,"    he    cried, 

and  o'er  "  have  done  ; 

Till  it  soothes  like  summer  rain.  Your  wishes  shall  be  granted !  " 

[99] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


He  hurled  his  flaming  lances  far; 

The  twain  stood  unafrrighted  — 
And  Midnight  and  the  Morning- 
Star 

Lay  down  in  death  united! 


DREAMS 

DREAM  on,  for  dreams  are  sweet: 

Do  not  awaken! 
Dream  on,  and  at  thy  feet 

Pomegranates  shall  be  shaken. 

Who  likeneth  the  youth 

Of  life  to  morning? 
'Tis  like  the  night  in  truth, 

Rose-coloured  dreams  adorning. 

The  wind  is  soft  above, 

The  shadows  umber. 
(There  is  a  dream  called  Love.) 

Take  thou  the  fullest  slumber! 

In  Lethe's  soothing  stream, 
Thy  thirst  thou  slakest. 

Sleep,  sleep;  't  is  sweet  to  dream. 
Oh,  weep  when  thou  awakest! 


THE  DREAMER 

TEMPLES  he  built  and  palaces  of 

air, 

And,    with    the   artist's   parent- 
pride  aglow, 
His  fancy  saw  his  vague  ideals 

grow 
Into   creations   marvellously    fair; 


He    set    his    foot    upon    Fame's 

nether  stair. 
But    ah,    his    dream, —  it    had 

entranced  him  so 
He  could  not  move.     He  could 

no  farther  go; 

But  paused  in  joy  that  he  was  even 
there ! 

He   did   not  wake  until  one   day 

there  gleamed 
Thro'    his   dark   consciousness   a 

light  that  racked 
His  being  till  he  rose,  alert  to  act. 
But  lo !  what  he  had  dreamed,  the 

while  he  dreamed, 
Another,    wedding   action    unto 

thought, 

Into   the   living,   pulsing  world 
had  brought. 


WAITING 

THE  sun  has  slipped  his  tether 
And  galloped  down  the  west. 
(Oh,   it's  weary,  weary  waiting, 

love.) 
The  little  bird  is  sleeping 

In  the  softness  of  its  nest. 
Night    follows    day,    day    follows 

dawn, 
And    so    the   time   has   come   and 

gone: 

And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting, 
love. 


The  cruel  wind  is  rising 
With  a  whistle  and  a  wail. 


[100] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


(And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting, 

love.) 
My  eyes  are  seaward  straining 

For  the  coming  of  a  sail; 
But   void    the   sea,    and   void   the 

beach 
Far  and  beyond   where  gaze  can 

reach ! 
And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting, 

love. 

I   heard   the   bell-buoy   ringing  — 

How  long  ago  it  seems! 
(Oh,   it's  weary,   weary  waiting, 

love.) 
And  ever  still,  its  knelling 

Crashes  in  upon  my  dreams. 
The  banns  were  read,   my   frock 

was  sewn; 
Since    then    two    seasons'    winds 

have  blown  — 

And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting, 
love. 

The  stretches  of  the  ocean 

Are  bare  and  bleak  to-day. 
(Oh,   it's  weary,  weary  waiting, 

love. ) 
My  eyes  are  growing  dimmer  — 

Is  it  tears,  or  age,  or  spray? 
But  I  will  stay  till  you  come  home. 
Strange  ships  come  in  across  the 

foam! 

But  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting, 
love. 


THE  END  OF  THE  CHAP- 
TER 

AH,  yes,  the  chapter  ends  to-day; 

We  even  lay  the  book  away; 

But  oh,  how  sweet  the  moments 

sped 
Before  the  final  page  was  read! 

We  tried  to  read  between  the  lines 

The  Author's  deep-concealed  de- 
signs; 

But  scant  reward  such  search  se- 
cures ; 

You  saw  my  heart  and  I  saw 
yours. 

The    Master, —  He    who    penned 

the  page 

And  bade  us  read  it, —  He  is  sage: 
And  what  he  orders,  you  and  I 
Can  but  obey,  nor  question  why. 

We  read  together  and  forgot 
The  world  about  us.     Time  was 

not. 

Unheeded  and  unfelt,  it  fled. 
We    read    and    hardly    knew    we 

read. 

Until  beneath  a  sadder  sun, 

We  came  to  know  the  book  was 

done. 
Then,  as  our  minds  were  but  new 

lit, 
It  dawned  upon  us  what  was  writ ; 


And    we   were   startled.     In    our 

eyes, 
[101] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Looked   forth   the   light   of   great  And  they  pulse  again  with  a  keener 

surprise.  sting  — 

Then  as  a  deep-toned  tocsin  tolls,  I  know  why  he  beats  his  wing! 
A    voice    spoke    forth :    "  Behold 

your  souls!  "  *  know  wh^  the  caSed  bird  slngs> 

ah  me, 

I  do,  I  do.     I  cannot  look  When  his  wing  is  bruised  and 

Into  your  eyes:  so  close  the  book.  his  bosom  sore, — 

But  brought  it  grief  or  brought  it     When   he  beats  his  bars  and  he 

bliss,  would  be  free; 

No  other  page  shall  read  like  this!      It  is  not  a  carol  of  joy  or  glee, 

But  a  prayer  that  he  sends  from 


SYMPATHY 

I  KNOW  what  the  caged  bird  feels, 

alas! 
When  the  sun  is  bright  on  the 

upland  slopes; 
When  the  wind  stirs  soft  through 

the  springing  grass, 
And  the  river  flows  like  a  stream 

of  glass; 


his  heart's   deep  core, 
But  a  plea,  that  upward  to  Heaven 

he  flings  — 
I  know  why  the  caged  bird  sings! 


LOVE  AND  GRIEF 

OUT  of  my  heart,  one  treach'rous 
winter's  day, 


When  the  first  bird  sings  and      l  locked  y°unS  Love   and   threw 


the  first  bud  opes,  the  k< 

And   the   faint   perfume   from   its      Grief>    wandering    widely,    found 


chalice  steals— 


the 


I  know  what  the  caged  bird  feels!  And    hastened    with    it,    straight- 
way, back  to  me, 

I  know  why  the  caged  bird  beats  With  Love  beside  him.     He  un- 

his  wing  locked  the  door 

Till  its  blood  is  red  on  the  cruel  And   bade   Love    enter   with   him 

bars;  there  and  stay. 

For  he  must  fly  back  to  his  perch  And  so  the  twain  abide  for  ever- 

and  cling  more. 
When   he   fain   would   be   on   the 

bough  a-swing;  LOVE'S  CHASTENING 

And  a  pain  still  throbs  in  the  Once  Love  grew  bold  and  arro- 

old,  old  scars  gant  of  air, 
[102] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Proud  of  the  youth  that  made  him 
fresh  and  fair; 

So  unto  Grief  he  spake,  "  What 
right  hast  thou 

To  part  or  parcel  of  this  heart?" 
Grief's  brow 

Was  darkened  with  the  storm  of 
inward  strife; 

Thrice  smote  he  Love  as  only  he 
might  dare, 

And  Love,  pride  purged,  was  chas- 
tened all  his  life. 


MORTALITY 

ASHES  to  ashes,  dust  unto  dust, 
What  of  his  loving,  what  of  his 

lust? 
What  of  his  passion,  what  of  his 

pain  ? 
What  of  his  poverty,  what  of  his 

pride  ? 
Earth,  the  great  mother,  has  called 

him  again: 

Deeply  he  sleeps,  the  world's  ver- 
dict defied. 
Shall  he  be  tried  again?     Shall  he 

go  free? 
Who    shall    the    court    convene? 

Where  shall  it  be? 
No  answer  on  the  land,  none  from 

the  sea. 
Only  we  know  that  as  he  did,  we 

must: 
You  with  your  theories,  you  with 

your  trust, — 
Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  unto  dust! 


LOVE 

A  LIFE  was  mine  full  of  the  close 

concern 
Of    many-voiced    affairs.     The 

world  sped  fast; 
Behind  me,  ever  rolled  a  preg- 
nant past. 
A  present  came  equipped  with  lore 

to  learn. 

Art,  science,  letters,  in  their  turn, 
Each   one   allured   me  with  its 

treasures  vast; 
And   I   staked   all   for  wisdom, 

till  at  last 
Thou  cam'st  and  taught  my  soul 

anew  to  yearn. 
I  had  not  dreamed  that  I  could 

turn  away 
From    all    that    men   with   brush 

and  pen  had  wrought; 
But  ever  since  that  memorable 

day 
When  to  my  heart  the  truth  of 

love  was  brought, 
I   have  been  wholly  yielded  to 

its  sway, 

And  had  no  room  for  any  other 
thought. 

SHE  GAVE  ME  A  ROSE 

SHE  gave  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 
I  love  her,  she  knows, 

And  my  action  confessed  it. 
She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 


[103] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Ah,  how  my  heart  glows, 

Could  I  ever  have  guessed  it? 

It  is  fair  to  suppose 

That  I  might  have  repressed  it: 

She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 

'T  was  a  rhyme  in  life's  prose 
That  uplifted  and  blest  it. 

Man's  nature,  who  knows 
Until  love  comes  to  test  it? 

She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 


Be    thy   far   home   by   mountain, 

vale,  or  sea. 
My  yearning  heart  may  never  find 

its  rest 
Until    thou    liest    rapt    upon    my 

breast. 
The  wind  may  bring  its  perfume 

from  the  south, 
Is  it  so  sweet  as  breath  from  my 

love's  mouth? 
Oh,    naught   that   surely   is,    and 

naught  that  seems 
May  turn  me  from  the  lady  of  my 

dreams. 


DREAM  SONG    I 

LONG  years  ago,  within  a  distant 
clime, 

Ere  Love  had  touched  me  with 
his  wand  sublime, 

I  dreamed  of  one  to  make  my  life's 
calm  May 

The  panting  passion  of  a  sum- 
mer's day. 

And  ever  since,  in  almost  sad  sus- 
pense, 

I  have  been  waiting  with  a  soul 
intense 

To  greet  and  take  unto  myself 
the  beams, 

Of  her,  my  star,  the  lady  of  my 
dreams. 

O  Love,  still  longed  and  looked 
for,  come  to  me, 


DREAM  SONG    II 

PRAY,  what  can  dreams  avail 
To  make  love  or  to  mar? 

The  child  within  the  cradle  rail 
Lies  dreaming  of  the  star. 

But  is  the  star  by  this  beguiled 

To  leave  its  place   and   seek   the 
child? 

The  poor  plucked  rose  within  its 

glass 

Still  dreameth  of  the  bee; 
But,    tho'    the    lagging    moments 

pass, 

Her  Love  she  may  not  see. 
If  dream  of  child  and  flower  fail, 
Why    should    a    maiden's    dreams 
prevail  ? 


[104] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


CHRISTMAS     IN     THE 
HEART 

THE    snow    lies    deep    upon    the 

ground, 

And  winter's  brightness  all  around 
Decks  bravely  out  the  forest  sere, 
With  jewels  of  the  brave  old  year. 
The  coasting  crowd  upon  the  hill 
With  some  new  spirit  seems  to 

thrill; 

And  all  the  temple  bells  achime. 
Ring  out  the  glee  of  Christmas 

time. 

In  happy  homes  the  brown  oak- 
bough 

Vies  with  the  red-gemmed  holly 
now; 

And  here  and  there,  like  pearls, 
there  show 

The  berries  of  the  mistletoe. 

A  sprig  upon  the  chandelier 

Says  to  the  maidens,  "  Come  not 
here!" 

Even  the  pauper  of  the  earth 

Some  kindly  gift  has  cheered  to 
mirth ! 

Within  his  chamber,  dim  and  cold, 
There  sits  a  grasping  miser  old. 
He   has   no   thought   save   one   of 

gain,— 
To   grind   and   gather  and   grasp 

and  drain. 

A  peal  of  bells,  a  merry  shout 
Assail  his  ear :  he  gazes  out 
Upon  a  world  to  him  all  gray, 


And  snarls,  "  Why,  this  is  Christ- 
mas Day!  " 

No,  man  of  ice, —  for  shame,  for 

shame ! 
For  "  Christmas  Day  "  is  no  mere 

name. 

No,  not  for  you  this  ringing  cheer, 
This  festal  season  of  the  year. 
And  not  for  you  the  chime  of  bells 
From  holy  temple  rolls  and  swells. 
In  day  and  deed  he  has  no  part  — 
Who  holds  not  Christmas  in  his 

heart ! 


THE  KING  IS  DEAD 

AYE,  lay  him  in  his  grave,  the  old 
dead  year! 

His  life  is  lived  —  fulfilled  his 
destiny. 

Have  you  for  him  no  sad,  regret- 
ful tear 

To  drop  beside  the  cold,  unfol- 
lowed  bier? 

Can  you  not  pay  the  tribute  of  a 
sigh? 

Was  he  not  kind  to  you,  this  dead 

old  year? 
Did  he  not  give  enough  of  earthly 

store  ? 
Enough  of  love,  and  laughter,  and 

good  cheer? 
Have   not   the   skies  you   scanned 

sometimes  been  clear? 


[105] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

How,  then,  of  him  who  dies,  could  RESIGNATION 

you  ask  more?  LoNG   had    j   grieyed   at   what 

deemed  abuse; 

It  is  not  well  to  hate  him  for  the  But  now  j  am  as  grain 

Pain  the  mill. 

He  brought  you,  and  the  sorrows  If  SQ  be  thou  must  crush  m£  for 

manifold-  thy  use, 

To  pardon  him  these  hurts  still  I  Grlnd  on>  Q  potent  God>  and 

.   am  fam>\  do  thy  will! 
For  in  the  panting  period  of  his 

reign, 

He  brought  me  new  wounds,  but  LOVE'S  HUMILITY 

he  healed  the  old.  As  some  rapt  gazer  on  the  lowly 

earth, 

One  little  sigh  for  thee,  my  poor,  Looks    up    to    radiant    planets, 

dead  friend  —  ranging  far, 

One    little    sigh    while    my    com-  So  I,  whose  soul  doth  know  thy 

panions  sing.  wondrous  worth 

Thou  art  so  soon  forgotten  in  the  Look  longing  up  to  thee  as  to  a 

endJ  star. 
We  cry  e'en  as  thy  footsteps  down- 


PRFPFDFNT 

"The  king  is  dead!  long  live  the 

king!"  THE  poor  man  went  to  the  rich 

man's  doors, 
"  I    come    as   Lazarus    came,"    he 

THEOLOGY  .  suai(L 

1  he  rich  man  turned  with  humble 

THERE  is  a  heaven,  for  ever,  day  head,  — 

by  day,  "  I  will  send  my  dogs  to  lick  your 
The  upward  longing  of  my  soul  sores  !  " 

doth  tell  me  so. 
There  is  a  hell,  I  'm  quite  as  sure  ; 


H£R 

for  pray, 

If  there  were  not,   where  would      SHE   told   her   beads  with   down- 
my  neighbours  go?  cast  eyes, 

Within  the  ancient  chapel  dim; 
And  ever  as  her  fingers  slim 
[106] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Slipt  o'er  th'  insensate  ivories, 

My   rapt   soul    followed,   spaniel- 
wise. 

Ah,  many  were  the  beads  she  wore ; 
But  as  she  told  them  o'er  and 
o'er, 

They  did  not  number  all  my  sighs. 

My  heart  was  filled  with  unvoiced 

cries 

And  prayers  and  pleadings  un- 
expressed ; 

But  while  I  burned  with  Love's 
unrest, 

She   told   her   beads   with   down- 
cast eyes. 


LITTLE  LUCY  LANDMAN 


,  the  day  has  set  me  dreaming 

In  a  strange,  half  solemn  way 
Of  the  feelings  I  experienced 

On  another  long  past  day,  — 
Of  the  way  my  heart  made  music 

When  the  buds  began  to  blow, 
And  o'  little  Lucy  Landman 

Whom  I  loved  long  years  ago. 

It  's  in  spring,  the  poet  tells  us, 

That  we   turn   to  thoughts  of 

love, 
And  our  hearts  go  out  a-wooing 

With  the  lapwing  and  the  dove. 
But  whene'er  the  soul  goes  seeking 

Its  twin-soul,  upon  the  wing, 
I  Ve  a  notion,  backed  by  mem'ry, 

That  it  's  love  that  makes  the 
spring. 


I  have  heard  a  robin  singing 
When  the  boughs  were  brown 
and  bare, 

And  the  chilling  hand  of  winter 

Scattered  jewels  through  the  air. 

And  in  spite  of  dates  and  seasons, 
It  was  always  spring,  I  know, 

When  I  loved  Lucy  Landman 
In  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Ah,  my  little  Lucy  Landman, 

I  remember  you  as  well 
As  if  't  were  only  yesterday 

I  strove  your  thoughts  to  tell, — 
When  I  tilted  back  your  bonnet, 

Looked  into  your  eyes  so  true, 
Just  to  see  if  you  were  loving 

Me  as  I  was  loving  you. 

Ah,  my  little  Lucy  Landman 

It  is  true  it  was  denied 
You  should  see  a  fuller  summer 

And  an  autumn  by  my  side. 
But  the  glance  of  love's  sweet  sun- 
light 
Which  your  eyes  that  morning 

gave 

Has  kept  spring  within  my  bosom, 
Though    you     lie     within     the 
grave. 

THE  GOURD 

IN  the  heavy  earth  the  miner 
Toiled  and  laboured  day  by  day, 

Wrenching  from  the  miser  moun- 
tain 
Brilliant  treasure  where  it  lay. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And  the  artist  worn  and  weary 
Wrought  with  labour  manifold 

That   the   king   might    drink   his 

nectar 
From  a  goblet  made  of  gold. 

On  the  prince's  groaning  table 

Mid  the  silver  gleaming  bright 
Mirroring  the  happy  faces 

Giving  back  the  flaming  light, 
Shine  the  cups  of  priceless  crystal 

Chased  with  many  a  lovely  line, 
Glowing  now  with  warmer  colour, 

Crimsoned  by  the  ruby  wine. 

In  a  valley  sweet  with  sunlight, 

Fertile  with  the  dew  and  rain, 
Without  miner's  daily  labour, 

Without  artist's  nightly  pain, 
There  there  grows  the  cup  I  drink 
from, 

Summer's  sweetness  in  it  stored, 
And  my  lips  pronounce  a  blessing 

As   they   touch    an    old    brown 
gourd. 

Why,  the  miracle  at  Cana 

In  the  land  of  Galilee, 
Tho'  it  puzzles  all  the  scholars, 

Is  no  longer  strange  to  me. 
For  the  poorest  and  the  humblest 

Could  a  priceless  wine  afford, 
If  they  'd  only  dip  up  water 

With  a  sunlight-seasoned  gourd. 

So  a  health  to  my  old  comrade, 
And  a  song  of  praise  to  sing 


When  he  rests  inviting  kisses 

In  his  place  beside  the  spring. 
Give  the  king  his  golden  goblets, 
Give     the    prince    his    crystal 

hoard ; 

But  for  me  the  sparkling  water 
From   a   brown   and   brimming 
gourd ! 


THE  KNIGHT 

OUR  good  knight,  Ted,  girds  his 

broadsword  on 
(And     he    wields    it    well,     I 

ween)  ; 
He  's  on  his  steed,  and  away  has 

gone 

To  the  fight  for  king  and  queen. 
What  tho'  no  edge  the  broadsword 

hath? 
What  tho'  the  blade  be  made  of 

lath? 

'T  is  a  valiant  hand 
That  wields  the  brand, 
So,  foeman,  clear  the  path! 

He  prances  off  at  a  goodly  pace; 

'T  is  a  noble  steed  he  rides, 
That  bears  as  well  in  the  speedy 
race 

As  he  bears  in  battle-tides. 
What  tho'  't  is  but  a  rocking-chair 
That  prances  with  this  stately  air? 

'T  is  a  warrior  bold 

The  reins  doth  hold, 
Who  bids  all  foes  beware! 


[108] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 
THOU  ART  MY  LUTE 


A  touch,  as  of  lips  that  were  press- 
ing 
THOU    art    my    lute,    by    thee    I          Mine  own  wlth  the  message  of 

sing  — 

My  being  is  attuned  to  thee. 

Thou  settest  all  my  words  a-wing, 

And  meltest  me  to  melody. 


bliss  — 

A  sudden,  soft,  fleeting  caressing, 
A  breath   like  a  maiden's  first 
kiss. 


Thou  art  my  life,  by  thee  I  live, 
From   thee  proceed   the  joys  I 

know ; 
Sweetheart,   thy   hand   has  power 

to  give 

The  meed  of  love  —  the  cup  of 
woe. 


I    woke  —  and    the    scoffer    may 

doubt  me  — 
I  peered  in  surprise  through  the 

gloom  ; 
But  nothing  and  none  were  about 

me, 
And  I  was  alone  in  my  room. 


Thou  art  my  love,  by  thee  I  lead 

My  soul  the  paths  of  light  along,      PerhaPs      twas     the    wmd     that 

caressed  me 


From  vale  to  vale,  from  mead  to 

mead, 
And  home  it  in  the  hills  of  song. 


And  touched  me  with  dew-laden 

breath  ; 
Or,   maybe,   close-sweeping,   there 

passed  me 

The     low-winging     Angel     of 
Death. 


My  song,  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all, 
Why  need  I  pray  or  make  my 

plea, 
Since  my  petition  cannot  fall; 

For  I  'm  already  one  with  thee !      Some   sceptic   may  choose   to   dis- 
dain it, 
Or  one  feign  to  read  it  aright; 

THE  PHANTOM  KISS  Or  wisdom  may  seek  to  explain 

it  — 
ONE  night  in  my  room,  still  and          This  mystical  kiss  in  the  night. 

beamless, 

With  will  and  with  thought  in      But  rather  let  fancy  thus  clear  it: 

eclipse,  That,  thinking  of  me  here  alone, 

I  rested  in  sleep  that  was  dream-      The  miles  were  made  naught,  and, 

less;  in  spirit, 

When  softly  there   fell  on  my          Thy    lips,    love,    were    laid    on 
lips  mine  own. 

[109] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


COMMUNION 

IN  the  silence  of  my  heart, 

I  will  spend  an  hour  with  thee, 

When  my  love  shall  rend  apart 
All  the  veil  of  mystery: 

All  that  dim  and  misty  veil 

That  shut  in  between  our  souls 
When  Death  cried,  "  Ho,  maiden, 

hail!" 

And  your  barque  sped   on  the 
shoals. 

On    the    shoals?     Nay,    wrongly 

said. 
On   the   breeze   of   Death   that 

sweeps 

Far  from  life,  thy  soul  has  sped 
Out  into   unsounded   deeps. 

I  shall  take  an  hour  .and  come 
Sailing,  darling,  to  thy  side. 

Wind  nor  sea  may  keep  me  from 
Soft  communings  with  my  bride. 

I  shall  rest  my  head  on  thee 
As  I  did  long  days  of  yore, 

When  a  calm,  untroubled  sea 
Rocked  thy  vessel  at  the  shore. 

I  shall  take  thy  hand  in  mine, 
And  live  o'er  the  olden  days 

When  thy  smile  to  me  was  wine, — 
Golden  wine  thy  word  of  praise, 


For  the  carols  I  had  wrought 
In  my  soul's  simplicity; 


[I 


For  the  petty  beads  of  thought 
Which    thine    eyes   alone   could 
see. 

Ah,  those  eyes,  love-blind,  but  keen 
For  my  welfare  and  my  weal ! 

Tho'  the  grave-door  shut  between, 
Still  their  love-lights  o'er  me 
steal. 

I  can  see  thee  thro'  my  tears, 
As  thro'  rain  we  see  the  sun. 

What  tho'  cold  and  cooling  years 
Shall  their  bitter  courses  run, — 

I  shall  see  thee  still  and  be 
Thy  true  lover  evermore, 

And  thy  face  shall  be  to  me 
Dear  and  helpful  as  before. 

Death  may  vaunt  and  Death  may 

boast, 
But    we    laugh    his    pow'r    to 

scorn  ; 
He  is  but  a  slave  at  most, — 

Night  that  heralds  coming  morn. 

I  shall  spend  an  hour  with  thee 
Day  by  day,  my  little  bride. 

True  love  laughs  at  mystery, 
Crying,    "  Doors  of  Death,  fly 
wide." 


MARE  RUBRUM 

IN   Life's   Red   Sea  with   faith   I 

plant  my  feet, 

And  wait  the  sound  of  that  sus- 
taining word 
10] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Which  long  ago  the  men  of  The    waving    branches    with    the 

Israel  heard,  wind  at  play, 

When  Pharaoh's  host  behind  them,  The      slight      and      tremulous 

fierce  and  fleet,  blooms  that  show  between, 

Raged    on,    consuming    with    re-  Sweet  all:  and  yet  my  yearning 

vengeful  heat.  heart  doth  lean 
Why  are  the  barrier  waters  Toward    Love's    Egyptian    flesh- 
still  unstirred  ?  —  pots  far  away. 
That  struggling  faith  may  die 

of  hope  deferred  ?  Beside  the  wall,  the  slim  Labur- 

Is  God  not  sitting  in  His  ancient  num  grows 

seat?  And  flings  its  golden  flow'rs  to 

every  breeze. 

The  billows  swirl  above  my  trem-  But  e'en   among  such   soothing 

bling  limbs,  sights  as  these, 

And    almost    chill    my    anxious  I  pant  and  nurse  my  soul-devour- 

heart  to  doubt  ing  woes. 

And  disbelief,  long  conquered  Of    all    the    longings    that    our 

and  defied.  hearts  wot  of, 

But  tho'  the  music  of  my  hopeful  There  is  no  hunger  like  the  want 

hymns  of  love! 
Is  drowned  by  curses  of  the  rag- 
ing rout, 
No  voice  yet  bids  th'  opposing 

waves  divide!  THE  CRISIS 


IN  AN  ENGLISH  GARDEN 


A  MAN  of  low  degree  was  sore  op- 
pressed, 
Fate  held  him  under  iron-handed 

sway, 
IN  this  old  garden,  fair,  I  walk      And    ever,    those    who    saw    him 

to-day  thus  distressed 

Heart-charmed     with     all     the          Would  bid  him  bend  his  stub- 
beauty  of  the  scene:  born  will  and  pray. 
The     rich,     luxuriant     grasses'      But  he,  strong  in  himself  and  ob- 

cooling  green,  durate, 

The  wall's  environ,  ivy-decked  and     Waged,   prayerless,   on  his  losing 


gray, 


[ill] 


fight  with  Fate. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Friends   gave   his   proffered   hand 

their  coldest  clasp, 
Or  took  it  not  at  all;  and  Pov- 
erty, 

That  bruised  his  body  with  relent- 
less grasp, 

Grinned,     taunting,     when     he 
struggled  to  be  free. 

But  though  with  helpless  hands  he 
beat  the  air, 

His   need   extreme   yet   found   no 
voice  in  prayer. 

Then  he  prevailed;  and  forthwith 

snobbish  Fate, 
Like  some  whipped   cur,   came 

fawning  at  his  feet; 
Those   who   had   scorned   forgave 

and  called  him  great  — 
His     friends     found     out     that 

friendship  still  was  sweet. 
But  he,  once  obdurate,  now  bowed 

his  head 
In  prayer,  and  trembling  with  its 

import,  said: 

"  Mere  human  strength  may  stand 

ill-fortune's  frown; 
So     I     prevailed,     for     human 

strength  was  mine; 
But    from    the    killing    pow'r    of 

great  renown, 
Naught  may  protect  me  save  a 

strength  divine. 
Help    me,    O    Lord,    in    this   my 

trembling  cause; 

I  scorn  men's  curses,  but  I  dread 
applause ! " 

[I 


THE  CONQUERORS 

THE    BLACK  TROOPS   IN    CUBA 

ROUND  the  wide  earth,  from  the 
red  field  your  valour  has  won, 

Blown  with  the  breath  of  the  far- 
speaking  gun, 

Goes  the  word. 

Bravely  you  spoke  through  the  bat- 
tle cloud  heavy  and  dun. 

Tossed  though  the  speech  toward 
the  mist-hidden  sun, 
The  world  heard. 

Hell  would  have  shrunk  from  you 

seeking  it  fresh  from  the  fray, 
Grim  with  the  dust  of  the  battle, 

and  gray 

From  the  fight. 
Heaven  would  have  crowned  you, 

with  crowns  not  of  gold  but 

of  bay, 
Owning  you  fit  for  the  light  of 

her  day, 

Men  of  night. 

Far  through  the  cycle  of  years  and 
of  lives  that  shall  come, 

There  shall  speak  voices  long  muf- 
fled and  dumb, 
Out  of  fear. 

And  through  the  noises  of  trade 
and  the  turbulent  hum, 

Truth  shall  rise  over  the  militant 
drum, 

Loud  and  clear. 

Then  on  the  cheek  of  the  honester 

nation  that  grows, 
12] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


All  for  their  love  of  you,  not  for 
your  woes, 

There  shall  lie 
Tears  that  shall  be  to  your  souls  as 

the  dew  to  the  rose; 
Afterward   thanks,  that  the  pres- 
ent yet  knows 
Not  to  ply! 


ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL 
—  DEAD 

BACK  to  the  breast  of  thy  mother, 

Child  of  the  earth! 

E'en  her  caress  can  not  smother 

What  thou  hast  done. 

Follow  the  trail  of  the  westering 

sun 

Over  the  earth. 

Thy  light  and  his  were  as  one  — 
Sun,  in  thy  worth. 
Unto  a  nation  whose  sky  was  as 

night, 
Camest   thou,   holily,  bearing  thy 

light: 

And  the  dawn  came, 
In  it  thy  fame 
Flashed  up  in  a  flame. 

Back  to  the  breast  of  thy  mother  — 

To  rest. 

Long  hast  thou  striven; 

Dared  where  the  hills  by  the  light- 
ning of  heaven  were  riven; 

Go  now,  pure  shriven. 

Who  shall  come  after  thee,  out  of 
the  clay  — 


Learned  one  and  leader  to  show 

us  the  way? 
Who  shall  rise  up  when  the  world 

gives  the  test? 

Think  thou  no.  more  of  this  — 
Rest! 


WHEN  ALL  IS  DONE 

WHEN  all  is  done,  and  my  last 

word  is  said, 
And  ye  who  loved  me  murmur, 

"  He  is  dead," 
Let  no  one  weep,  for  fear  that  I 

should  know, 
And   sorrow   too   that  ye  should 

sorrow  so. 

When  all  is  done  and  in  the  ooz- 
ing clay, 

Ye  lay  this  cast-off  hull  of  mine 
away, 

Pray  not  for  me,  for,  after  long 
despair, 

The  quiet  of  the  grave  will  be  a 
prayer. 

For    I    have    suffered    loss    and 

grievous  pain, 
The    hurts    of    hatred    and    the 

world's  disdain, 
And   wounds   so   deep   that   love, 

well-tried  and  pure, 
Had  not  the  pow'r  to  ease  them 

or  to  cure. 

When  all  is  done,  say  not  my  day 
is  o'er, 

13] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And  that  thro'  night  I  seek  a  dim-      That  I  wonder  what 's  the  use  o: 


mer  shore: 
Say  rather  that  my  morn  has  just 

begun,— 
I  greet  the  dawn  and  not  a  setting 

sun, 

When  all  is  done. 


writing  mine. 


DISTINCTION 


"  I  AM  but  clay,"  the  sinner  plead 
Who  fed  each  vain  desire. 

"  Not  only  clay,"  another  said, 
"  But  worse,  for  thou  art  mire.' 

THE  POET  AND  THE 
BABY 

THE  SUM 
How's  a  man  to  write  a  sonnet, 

can  you  tell,—  A  LITTLE  dreaming  by  the  way, 

How  's  he  going  to  weave  the  dim,      A  little  toiling  day  by  day; 
poetic  spell,—  A  little  pain,  a  little  strife, 

When  a-toddling  on  the  floor         A  little  joy,—  and  that  is  life. 
Is  the  muse  he  must  adore, 
And     this    muse    he     loves,     not     A      little      short-lived      summer'! 

wisely,  but  too  well?  m°rn> 

When  joy  seems  all  so  newly  born 

XT  .  When  one  day's  sky  is  blue  above 

Now,  to  write  a  sonnet,  every  one      A    .          ....  .    , 

„  And  one  bird  sings, —  and  that  is 


allows, 
One  must  always  be  as  quiet  as  a 

mouse ; 

But  to  write  one  seems  to  me 
Quite  superfluous  to  be, 
When  you  Ve  got  a  little  sonnet 
in  the  house. 


love. 


A  little  sickening  of  the  years, 
The  tribute  of  a  few  hot  tears 
Two  folded  hands,  the  failing 

breath, 
And  peace  at  last, —  and   that  i; 

death. 
Just  a  dainty  little  poem,  true  and 

fine,  Just  dreaming,  loving,  dying  so, 

That  is  full  of  love  and  life  in      The  actors  in  the  drama  go  — 

every  line,  A  flitting  picture  on  a  wall, 

Earnest,  delicate,  and  sweet,  Love,   Death,   the  themes;  but  ii 

Altogether  so  complete  that  all? 


[114] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


SONNET 

ON   AN   OLD    BOOK   WITH    UNCUT 
LEAVES 

EMBLEM  of  blasted  hope  and  lost 

desire, 

No  finger  ever  traced  thy  yel- 
low page 
Save    Time's.     Thou    hast    not 

wrought  to  noble  rage 
The    hearts    thou    wouldst    have 

stirred.     Not  any  fire 
Save  sad  flames  set  to  light  a  fu- 
neral pyre 

Dost  thou  suggest.     Nay, —  im- 
potent in  age, 
Unsought,  thou  holdst  a  corner 

of  the  stage 
And  ceasest  even  dumbly  to  aspire. 

How  different  was  the  thought  of 

him  that  writ. 

What  promised   he   to  love   of 
ease  and  wealth, 

When  men  should  read  and  kin- 
dle at  his  wit. 

But  here  decay  eats  up  the  book 
by  stealth, 

While  it,   like  some  old   maiden, 
solemnly, 

Hugs  its  incongruous  virginity! 

ON  THE  SEA  WALL 

I  SIT  upon  the  old  sea  wall, 

And  watch  the  shimmering  sea, 
Where  soft  and  white  the  moon- 
beams fall, 


Till,  in  a  fantasy, 
Some  pure  white  maiden's  funeral 

pall 
The  strange  light  seems  to  me. 

The  waters  break  upon  the  shore 

And  shiver  at  my  feet, 
While   I   dream   old   dreams  o'er 

and  o'er, 

And  dim  old  scenes  repeat; 
Tho'  all  have  dreamed  the  same 

before, 
They  still  seem  new  and  sweet. 

The  waves  still  sing  the  same  old 

song 

That  knew  an  elder  time; 
The   breakers'   beat   is   not   more 

strong, 

Their  music  more  sublime; 
And  poets  thro'  the  ages  long 
Have  set  these  notes  to  rhyme. 

But  this  shall  not  deter  my  lyre, 
Nor  check  my  simple  strain; 

If  I  have  not  the  old-time  fire, 
I  know  the  ancient  pain: 

The  hurt  of  unfulfilled  desire, — 
The  ember  quenched  by  rain. 

I  know  the  softly  shining  sea 
That  rolls  this  gentle  swell 

Has  snarled  and  licked  its  tongues 

at  me 
And  bared  its  fangs  as  well; 

That  'neath  its  smile  so  heavenly, 
There  lurks  the  scowl  of  hell! 

15] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But  what  of  that?     I  strike  my 

string 

(For  songs  in  youth  are  sweet)  ; 
I  11    wait    and    hear    the    waters 

bring 

Their  loud  resounding  beat; 
Then,  in  her  own  bold  numbers 

sing 
The  Ocean's  dear  deceit! 


TO  A  LADY  PLAYING  THE 
HARP 

THY  tones  are  silver  melted  into 

sound, 

And  as  I  dream 
I  see  no  walls  around, 
But  seem  to  hear 
A  gondolier 

Sing  sweetly  down  some  slow  Ve- 
netian  stream. 

Italian  skies  —  that  I  have  never 

seen  — 
I  see  above. 

(Ah,  play  again,  my  queen; 
Thy  fingers  white 
Fly  swift  and  light 
And    weave    for    me    the    golden 
mesh  of  love.) 


Oh, 


of    the 


thou    dusk   sorceress 

dusky  eyes 
And  soft  dark  hair, 
'Tis  thou  that  mak'st  my  skies 
So  swift  to  change 
To  far  and  strange; 


But    far    and    strange,    thou    still 
dost  make  them  fair. 

Now  thou  dost  sing,  and  I  am  lost 

in  thee 

As  one  who  drowns 
In  floods  of  melody. 
Still  in  thy  art 
Give  me  this  part, 
Till  perfect  love,  the  love  of  lov- 
ing crowns. 


CONFESSIONAL 

SEARCH  thou  my  heart; 

If  there  be  guile, 
It  shall  depart 

Before  thy  smile. 

Search  thou  my  soul; 

Be  there  deceit, 
'T  will  vanish  whole 

Before  thee,  sweet. 

Upon  my  mind 

Turn  thy  pure  lens; 
Naught  shalt  thou  find 

Thou  canst  not  cleanse. 

If  I  should  pray, 

I  scarcely  know 
In  just  what  way 

My  prayers  would  go. 

So  strong  in  me 
I  feel  love's  leaven, 

If'd  bow  to  thee 
As  soon  as  Heaven! 


[116] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


MISAPPREHENSION 

OUT    of    my    heart,    one    day,    I 

wrote  a  song, 

With  my  heart's  blood  imbued, 
Instinct  with  passion,  tremulously 

strong, 

With  grief  subdued; 
Breathing  a  fortitude 

Pain-bought. 
And  one  who  claimed  much  love 

for  what  I  wrought, 
Read  and  considered  it, 

And  spoke: 

"  Ay,  brother, — 't  is  well  writ, 
But  where 's  the  joke?" 


PROMETHEUS 

PROMETHEUS  stole  from  Heaven 

the  sacred  fire 
And  swept  to  earth  with  it  o'er 

land  and  sea. 

He  lit  the  vestal  flames  of  poesy, 
Content,  for  this,  to  brave  celes- 
tial ire. 

Wroth  were   the  gods,  and  with 

eternal  hate 
Pursued    the   fearless   one   who 

ravished  Heaven 
That  earth   might  hold   in   fee 

the  perfect  leaven 
To   lift   men's   souls   above   their 
low  estate. 

But  judge  you  now,  when  poets 
wield  the  pen, 


Think  you  not  well  the  wrong 
has  been  repaired? 

'Twas  all  in  vain  that  ill  Pro- 
metheus fared: 

The    fire    has    been    returned    to 
Heaven  again! 

We  have  no  singers  like  the  ones 

whose  note 
Gave  challenge   to   the   noblest 

warbler's  song. 
We  have  no  voice  so  mellow, 

sweet,  and  strong 
As  that  which  broke  from  Shelley's 
golden  throat. 

The  measure  of  our  songs  is  our 

desires: 
We  tinkle  where  old  poets  used 

to  storm. 
We  lack  their  substance  tho'  we 

keep  their  form: 

We  strum  our  banjo-strings  and 
call  them  lyres. 


LOVE'S  PHASES 

LOVE  hath  the  wings  of  the  but- 
terfly, 
Oh,  clasp  him  but  gently, 

Pausing  and   dipping  and  flutter- 
ing by 
Inconsequently. 

Stir  not  his  poise  with  the  breath 
of  a  sigh; 

Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  but- 
terfly. 

17] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  eagle  Is    the    chap    for    its    money's 

bold,  worth : 

Cling  to  him  strongly —  And    the    lust    for    success    causes 

What  if  the  look  of  the  world  be  half  of  the  sins 

cold,  That  are  cursing  this  brave  old 

And  life  go  wrongly?  earth. 

Rest  on  his  pinions,  for  broad  is  For  it 's  fine   to   go   up,   and   the 

their  fold;  world's  applause 

Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  eagle  Is  sweet  to  the  mortal  ear; 

bold.  But  the  man  who  fails  in  a  noble 

cause 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  nightin-  is  a  hero  that 's  no  less  dear, 
gale, 

.  Hearken  hls  trilli"S-  'Tis  true  enough  that  the  laurel 
List  to  his  song  when  the  moon- 

light  is  pale-  Twines    but    for    the 

Passionate,  thrilling.  brow 

Cherish  the  lay,  ere  the  lilt  of  it  For   many   a   hero   ^ 

fail;  down 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  nightin-  mh    naught    but    the   cypres§ 

Sale'  bough. 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  storm  There  are  Sallant  men  In  the  los' 

at  night,  InS  fi£ht> 

Wildly  defiant.  And  as  Sallant  deeds  are  done 

Hear  him  and  yield  up  your  soul  As     ever     graced     the     captured 

to  his  might,  heISht 

Tenderly  pliant.  Or  the  battle  Srandly  won- 
None  shall  regret  him  who  heed 

him  aright;  We  sit   at  life's  board  with  our 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  storm  nerves  highstrung, 

at  night.  And  we  play  for  the  stake  of 

Fame, 

FOR  THE  MAN  WHO  And  T  °des  *re  sung  and  °ur 

FAILS  banners  hung 

For    the    man    who    wins    the 

THE  world  is  a  snob,  and  the  man  game. 

who  wins  But  I  have  a  song  of  another  kind 
[i  1 8] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Than   breathes    in   these   fame- 
wrought  gales, — 

An   ode   to   the   noble   heart   and 
mind 

Of  the  gallant  man  who  fails! 

The  man  who  is  strong  to  fight  his 

fight, 
And   whose  will   no   front   can 

daunt, 
If  the  truth  be  truth  and  the  right 

be  right, 

Is  the  man  that  the  ages  want. 
Tho'  he  fail  and  die  in  grim  de- 
feat, 

Yet  he  has  not  fled  the  strife, 
And  the  house  of  Earth  will  seem 

more  sweet 
For  the  perfume  of  his  life. 


HARRIET  BEECHER 
STOWE 

SHE  told  the  story,  and  the  whole 

world  wept 
At  wrongs  and  cruelties  it  had 

not  known 
But   for   this   fearless   woman's 

voice  alone. 
She    spoke    to    consciences    that 

long  had  slept: 
Her     message,     Freedom's     clear 

reveille,  swept 

From  heedless  hovel  to  compla- 
cent throne. 
Command    and    prophecy   were 

in  the  tone 


And  from  its  sheath  the  sword 

of  justice  leapt. 
Around    two    peoples    swelled    a 

fiery  wave, 

But   both   came   forth   transfig- 
ured from  the  flame. 
Blest  be  the  hand  that  dared  be 

strong  to  save, 
And   blest  be  she  who   in  our 

weakness  came  — 
Prophet  and  priestess!     At  one 

stroke  she  gave 
A  race  to  freedom  and  herself 

to  fame. 


VAGRANTS 

LONG  time  ago,  we  two  set  out, 

My  soul  and  I. 

I  know  not  why, 

For  all  our  way  was  dim  with 
doubt. 

I  know  not  where 

We  two  may  fare: 
Though  still  with  every  changing 

weather, 
We  wander,  groping  on  together. 

We    do    not    love,    we    are    not 
friends, 

My  soul  and  I. 

He  lives  a  lie; 
Untruth  lines  every  way  he  wends. 

A  scoffer  he 

Who  jeers  at  me : 

19] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


And    so,    my    comrade    and    my      O  icy  mantle,  and  deceitful  snow! 
brother,  What  world-old   liars   in   your 

hearts  ye  are! 


We    wander    on    and    hate    each 
other. 

Ay,  there  be  taverns  and  to  spare, 

Beside  the  road; 

But  some  strange  goad 
Lets  me   not  stop   to   taste   their 
fare. 

Knew  I  the  goal 

Toward  which  my  soul 
And  I  made  way,  hope  made  life 

fra£rant: 
But  no.     We  wander,  aimless,  va- 

grant  ! 


A  WINTER'S  DAY 

ACROSS   the   hills   and   down   the 


Are  there  not  still  the  darkened 

seam  and  scar 
Beneath   the   brightness   that   you 

fain  would  show? 
Come   from   the   cover   with   thy 

blot  and  blur, 
O    reeking    Earth,    thou    whited 

sepulchre ! 


MY  LITTLE  MARCH 
GIRL 

COME  to  the  pane,  draw  the  cur- 

tain apart, 
There  she  is  passing,  the  girl  of 

my  heart; 
See  where  she  walks  like  a  queen 

in  the  street, 
Weather-defying,  calm,  placid  and 

sweet. 


narrow  ways, 
And   up   the  valley   where   the 

free  winds  sweep,  Tripping    along    with    impetuous 

The  earth  is  folded   in  an   er-  grace, 

mined  sleep  Joy  of  her  life  beaming  out  of  her 

That  mocks  the  melting  mirth  of  face, 

myriad  Mays.  Tresses  all  truant-like,  curl  upon 

Departed   her   disheartening   duns  curl, 

and  grays,  Wind-blown   and   rosy,   my  little 

And  all  her  crusty  black  is  cov-  March  girl. 

ered  deep. 

Dark    streams    are    locked    in  Hint     of     the     violet's     delicate 

Winter's  donjon-keep,      .,  bloom, 

And  made  to  shine  with  keen,  un-  Hint  of  the  rose's  pervading  per- 

wonted  rays.  fume! 
[120] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


How  can  the  wind  help  from  kiss-  The  stars  were  out  and  the  moon 

ing  her  face, —  it  grew 

Wrapping  her  round  in  his  stormy  From  a  wee  soft  glimmer  way  out 

embrace?  in  the  blue 
But  still  serenely  she  laughs  at  his 

rout, 
She  is  the  victor  who  wins  in  the 

bout.  She  sang,  and  the  song  trembled 

So  may  life's  passions   about  her  down  to  my  breast,— 

soul  swirl, 

Leaving     it     placid,— my     little  singing.) 

March  girl.  As  a  dove  just  out 

nest, 

What  self-possession  looks  out  of  And>  PuttinS  its  wln£s  to  the  first 

her  eyes!  sweet  test> 

What  are  the  wild  winds,  and  Flutters  homeward  s<>  wearily 

what  are  the  skies,  winging. 

Frowning    and    glooming    when,  c,                   ,  T      ., 

,    .       .         .  ,   ...  She  sang  and  I  said  to  my  heart 

brimming  with  life,  ,7^, 

*v        .    ,     «r  i  -I  nat  song, 

Cometh  the  little  maid  ripe  for  the 


To    a   bird    thro*    the    heavens 
winging. 


(I*    was    sweet,    so    sweet    the 
ts  fledgling 


strife  ? 


r™    t  .,    , 

lhat  was  sweet,  so  sweet  i   the 


singing, 


Ah!  Wind,  and  bah!  Wind,  what      c,    „  ,.      ' "?'  , 

.  ,  bhall  live  with  us  and 


might  have  you  now? 


inspire  us 


long, 


What  can  you  do  with  that  inno-      A    ,  .,  u  1111 

i  J      .  And  thou,  my  heart,  shalt  be  brave 

cent  brow?  , 

•01          TT7.    t          ,  TTT.    ,  and  strong 

Blow,    Wind,    and   grow,   Wind, 

and  eddy  and  swirl, 
But  bring  her  to  me,  Wind, —  my 
little  March  girl. 


REMEMBERED 
SHE    sang,    and    I    listened    the 


For    the    sake   of    those   words 
a-winging. 

The   woman    died    and   the   song 

was  still. 
(It  was  sweet,  so  sweet,  the 

singing.) 
But  ever  I  hear  the  same  low 

trill, 


whole  song  thro*.  Of  the  song  that  shakes  my  heart 

(It   was   sweet,    so   sweet,    the  with  a  thrill, 

singing.)  And  goes  forever  winging. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


LOVE  DESPOILED 

As  lone  I  sat  one  summer's  day, 
With     mien      dejected,      Love 

came  by; 
His    face    distraught,     his    locks 

astray, 

So  slow  his  gait,  so  sad  his  eye, 
I  hailed  him  with  a  pitying  cry: 

"  Pray,  Love,  what  has  disturbed 

theeso?" 
Said  I,  amazed.    "  Thou  seem'st 

bereft ; 
And     see     thy     quiver     hanging 

low, — 

What,  not  a  single  arrow  left? 
Pray,    who    is    guilty    of    this 
theft?" 

Poor  Love  looked  in  my  face  and 

cried : 

"  No  thief  were  ever  yet  so  bold 
To  rob  my  quiver  at  my  side. 
But  Time,  who  rules,  gave  ear 

to  Gold, 

And   all  my  goodly  shafts  are 
sold." 


THE  LAPSE 

THIS  poem  must  be  done  to-day; 

Then,  I  '11  e'en  to  it. 
I  must  not  dream  my  time  away, — 

I  'm  sure  to  rue  it. 
The  day  is  rather  bright,  I  know 

The  Muse  will  pardon 


My  half-defection,  if  I  go 

Into  the  garden. 

It      must      be     better      working 
there, — 

I  'm  sure  it 's  sweeter : 
And  something  in  the  balmy  air 

May  clear  my  metre. 

[In  the  Garden."] 

Ah  this  is  noble,  what  a  sky! 

What  breezes  blowing! 
The  very  clouds,  I  know  not  why, 

Call  one  to  rowing. 
The  stream  will  be  a  paradise 

To-day,  I  '11  warrant. 
I  know  the  tide  that 's  on  the  rise 

Will  seem  a  torrent; 
I  know  just  how  the  leafy  boughs 

Are  all  a-quiver; 
I  know  how  many  skiffs  and  scows 

Are  on  the  river. 
I  think  I  '11  just  go  out  awhile 

Before  I  write  it; 
When    Nature   shows   us   such   a 
smile, 

We  should  n't  slight  it. 
For  Nature  always  makes  desire 

By  giving  pleasure; 
And  so  't  will  help  me  put  more 
fire 

Into  my  measure. 

[On  the  River.] 

The  river  's  fine,  I  'm  glad  I  came, 

That  poem  's  teasing  ; 
But  health  is  better  far  than  fame, 

Though  cheques  are  pleasing. 


[122] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

I  don't  know  what  I  did  it  for,  —      Still  let  mine  eyes  look  ever  on  the 

This  air  's  a  poppy.  foe, 

I  'm  sorry  for  my  editor,  —  Still    let    mine    armor   case    me 

He  11  get  no  copy  !  strong  and  bright  ; 

And  grant  me,  as  I  deal  each  right- 
eous blow, 

THE  WARRIOR'S  PRAYER  Strength  for  the  fight! 

LONG    since,    in    sore    distress,    I  And  when,  at  eventide,  the  fray 

heard  one  pray,  Is  done> 

"  Lord,  who  prevailest  with  re-  My  soul  to  Death's  bedchamber 

sistless   might,  do  thou  light, 

Ever  from  war  and  strife  keep  me  And  give  me,  be  the  field  or  lost 

away,  or  won, 

My  battles  fight!"  Rest  from  the  fight! 

I  know  not  if  I  play  the  Pharisee, 
And  if  my  brother  after  all  be 

right;   "  FAREWELL  TO  ARCADY 

But   mine   shall   be   the   warrior's     ^ 

,  .  WITH  sombre  mien,  the  Evening 

plea  to  thee  — 

Strength  for  the  fight.  gray       . 

Comes    nagging    at    the    heels    of 


I  do  not  ask  that  thou  shalt  front 

the  frav  driven  faster  and  still  faster 

And  drive  'the  warring  foeman  Before  the  dusky-mantled  Master, 

from  my  sight;  The  HSht  fades  from  her  fearful 


I  only  ask,  O  Lord,  by  night,  by 

j  She  hastens,  stumbles,   falls,   and 

Strength  for  the  fight!  dies* 

When  foes  upon  me  press,  let  me  Beside  me  Amaryllis  weeps; 

not  quail  The    swelling    tears    obscure    the 
Nor    think    to    turn    me    into  deeps 

coward  flight.  Of  her  dark  eyes,  as,  mistily, 

I   only   ask,   to   make   mine   arms  The  rushing  rain  conceals  the  sea. 

prevail,  Here,  lay  my  tuneless  reed  away,  — 

Strength  for  the  fight!  I  have  no  heart  to  tempt  a  lay. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I  scent  the  perfume  of  the  rose 

Which  by  my  crystal  fountain 
grows. 

In  this  sad  time,  are  roses  blow- 
ing? 

And  thou,  my  fountain,  art  thou 
flowing, 

While  I  who  watched  thy  waters 

spring 

Am  all  too  sad  to  smile  or  sing? 
Nay,  give  me  back  my  pipe  again, 
It    yet    shall    breathe    this    single 

strain : 

Farewell  to  Arcady! 


THE    VOICE    OF    THE 
BANJO 

IN  a  small  and  lonely  cabin  out 
of  noisy  traffic's  way, 

Sat  an  old  man,  bent  and  feeble, 
dusk  of  face,  and  hair  of  gray, 

And  beside  him  on  the  table,  bat- 
tered, old,  and  worn  as  he, 

Lay  a  banjo,  droning  forth  this 
reminiscent  melody: 

"  Night    is    closing    in    upon    us, 

friend  of  mine,  but  don't  be 

sad; 
Let  us  think  of  all  the  pleasures 

and  the  joys  that  we  have  had. 
Let  us  keep  a  merry  visage,  and  be 

happy  till  the  last, 
Let  the  future  still  be  sweetened 

with  the  honey  of  the  past. 


"  For  I  speak  to  you  of  summer 

nights  upon  the  yellow  sand, 
When    the    Southern    moon    was 

sailing  high  and  silvering  all 

the  land; 
And  if  love  tales  were  not  sacred, 

there 's  a  tale   that   I   could 

tell 
Of  your  many  nightly  wanderings 

with  a  dusk  and  lovely  belle. 

"  And  I  speak  to  you  of  care-free 
songs  when  labour's  hour  was 
o'er, 

And  a  woman  waiting  for  your 
step  outside  the  cabin  door, 

And  of  something  roly-poly  that 
you  took  upon  your  lap, 

While  you  listened  for  the  stum- 
bling, hesitating  words,  '  Pap, 
pap.' 

"  I   could   tell  you  of  a  'possum 

hunt      across      the     wooded 

grounds, 
I  could  call  to  mind  the  sweetness 

of  the  baying  of  the  hounds, 
You  could  lift  me  up  and  smelling 

of  the  timber  that 's  in  me, 
Build  again  a  whole  green  forest 

with  the  mem'ry  of  a  tree. 

"  So   the   future   cannot   hurt   us 

while   we   keep   the   past   in 

mind, 
What  care  I  for  trembling  fingers, 

—  what  care  you  that  you  are 

blind? 


[124] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Time    may    leave    us    poor    and 

stranded,     circumstance    may 

make  us  bend; 
But  they  11  only  find  us  mellower, 

won't    they,     comrade  ?  —  in 

the  end." 


THE  STIRRUP  CUP 

COME,  drink  a  stirrup  cup  with  me, 

Before  we  close  our  rouse. 
You  're   all   aglow   with   wine,   I 

know: 

The  master  of  the  house, 
Unmindful   of   our   revelry, 
Has  drowned  the  carking  devil 

care, 
And  slumbers  in  his  chair. 

Come,  drink  a  cup  before  we  start ; 

We  've  far  to  ride  to-night. 
And  Death  may  take  the  race  we 

make, 

And  check  our  gallant  flight: 
But  even  he  must  play  his  part, 
And  tho'  the  look  he  wears  be 

grim, 
We'll  drink  a  toast  to  him! 


For  Death, —  a  swift  old  chap  is 

he, 

And  swift  the  steed  He  rides. 
He   needs  no  chart  o'er  main  or 

mart, 

For  no  direction  bides. 
So,  come,  a  final  cup  with  me, 
And    let    the    soldiers'    chorus 

swell, — 
To  hell  with  care,  to  hell! 


A  CHOICE 

THEY     please     me     not  —  these 

solemn   songs 

That  hint  of  sermons  covered  up. 
'Tis  true  the  world  should  heed 

its  wrongs, 

But  in  a  poem  let  me  sup, 
Not   simples   brewed   to   cure   or 

ease 

Humanity's  confessed  disease, 
But   the  spirit-wine  of  a  singing 

line, 
Or  a  dew-drop  in  a  honey  cup! 


[125] 


HUMOUR  AND  DIALECT 


THEN  AND  NOW 

THEN 

HE  loved  her,  and  through  many 

years, 

Had  paid  his  fair  devoted  court, 
Until  she  wearied,  and  with  sneers 
Turned  all  his  ardent  love  to  sport. 

That    night   within    his'   chamber 

lone, 

He  long  sat  writing  by  his  bed 
A  note  in  which  his  heart  made 

moan 
For  love;  the  morning  found  him 

dead. 

NOW 

Like  him,  a  man  of  later  day 
Was  jilted  by  the  maid  he  sought, 
And    from    her    presence    turned 

away, 
Consumed     by     burning,     bitter 

thought. 

He  sought  his  room  to  write  —  a 

curse 

Like  him  before  and  die,  I  ween. 
Ah  no,  he  put  his  woes- in  verse, 
And  sold  them  to  a  magazine. 


And   made   the   pond'rous   crusty 

sage 
The  object  of  a  noble  rage. 

Nor  did  I  think  (How  dense  we 

are!) 

That  any  day,  however  far, 
Would    find    me    holding,    unre- 

pelled, 
The   place   that   Doctor   Johnson 

held! 

But  change  has  come  and  time  has 

moved, 

And  now,  applauded,  unreproved, 
I  hold,  with  pardonable  pride, 
The  place  that  Johnson  occupied. 

Conceit!     Presumption!     What  is 

this? 

You  surely  read  my  words  amiss; 
Like  Johnson  I, —  a  man  of  mind ! 
How  could  you  ever  be  so  blind? 

No.     At    the    ancient    "  Cheshire 

Cheese," 
Blown    hither    by    some    vagrant 

breeze, 

To  dignify  my  shallow  wit, 
In  Doctor  Johnson's  seat  I  sit! 


AT  CHESHIRE  CHEESE 


MY  CORN-COB  PIPE 


WHEN  first  of  wise  old  Johnson      Men  may  sing  of  their  Havanas, 
taught,  elevating  to  the  stars 

My    youthful    mind    its    homage      The  real  or  fancied  virtues  of  their 
brought,  foreign-made  cigars; 

[129] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But  I  worship  Nicotina  at  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  shrine, 

And  she  sits  enthroned  in  glory  in 
this  corn-cob  pipe  of  mine. 

It 's  as  fragrant  as  the  meadows 

when  the  clover  is  in  bloom; 
It 's  as  dainty  as  the  essence  of  the 

daintiest  perfume; 
It 's  as  sweet  as  are  the  orchards 

when  the  fruit  is  hanging  ripe, 
With   the  sun's  warm   kiss   upon 

them  —  is  this  corn-cob  pipe. 

Thro'  the  smoke  about  it  clinging, 

I  delight  its  form  to  trace, 
Like  an  oriental  beauty  with  a  veil 

upon  her  face; 
And  my  room  is  dim  with  vapour 

as    a    church    when    censers 

sway, 
As  I  clasp  it  to  my  bosom  —  in  a 

figurative  way. 

It  consoles  me  in  misfortune  and 

it  cheers  me  in  distress, 
And  it  proves  a  warm  partaker  of 

my  pleasures  in  success; 
So  I  hail  it  as  a  symbol,  friendship's 

true  and  worthy  type, 
And  I  press  my  lips  devoutly  to 

my  corn-cob  pipe. 


IN  AUGUST 


WHEN  August  days  are  hot  an* 

dry, 
When  burning  copper  is  the  sky, 

[130] 


I  'd  rather  fish  than  feast  or  fly 
In  airy  realms  serene  and  high. 

I  'd  take  a  suit  not  made  for  looks, 
Some  easily  digested  books, 
Some  flies,  some  lines,  some  bait, 

some  hooks, 
Then  would  I  seek  the  bays  and 

brooks. 

I  would  eschew  mine  every  task, 
In  Nature's  smiles  my  soul  should 

bask, 
And    I    methinks   no   more   could 

ask, 
Except  —  perhaps  —  one         little 

flask. 

In  case  of  accident,  you  know, 
Or  should  the  wind  come  on  to 

blow, 

Or  I  be  chilled  or  capsized,  so, 
A  flask  would  be  the  only  go. 

Then    could    I    spend    a    happy 

time, — 

A  bit  of  sport,  a  bit  of  rhyme 
(A  bit  of  lemon,  or  of  lime, 
To    make    my    bottle's    contents 

prime). 

When   August   days   are   hot   an' 

dry, 

I  won't  sit  by  an*  sigh  or  die, 
I  '11  get  my  bottle  (on  the  sly) 
And  go  ahead,  and  fish,  and  lie! 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


THE  DISTURBER 

OH,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  wholly 

upset; 
I   am   sure   I  '11   be  jailed   for   a 

lunatic  yet. 
I  '11  be  out  of   a  job  —  it 's  the 

thing  to  expect 
When  I  'm  letting  my  duty  go  by 

with  neglect. 

You  may  judge  the  extent  and  de- 
gree of  my  plight 
When  I  'm  thinking  all  day  and 

a-dreaming  all  night, 
And  a-trying  my  hand  at  a  rhyme 

on  the  sly, 
All  on  account  of  a  sparkling  eye. 


There    are    those    who    say    men 

should  be  strong,  well-a-day! 
But  what  constitutes  strength   in 

a  man?     Who  shall  say? 
I  am  strong  as  the  most  when  it 

comes  to  the  arm. 
I  have  aye  held  my  own  on  the 

playground    or    farm. 
And  when  I  Ve  been  tempted,  I 

haven't  been  weak; 
But    now  —  why,    I    tremble    to 

hear  a  maid  speak. 
I  used  to  be  bold,  but  now  I  Ve 

grown  shy, 
And  all  on  account  of  a  sparkling 

eye. 


There  once  was  a  time  when  my 
heart  was  devout, 


But  now  my  religion  is  open  to 
doubt. 

When  parson  is  earnestly  preach- 
ing of  grace, 

My  fancy  is  busy  with  drawing 
a  face, 

Thro'  the  back  of  a  bonnet  most 
piously  plain; 

1 1  draw  it,  redraw  it,  and  draw 
it  again.' 

While  the  songs  and  the  sermon 
unheeded  go  by, — 

All  on  account  of  a  sparkling  eye. 

Oh,  dear  little  conjurer,  give  o'er 

your  wiles, 
It    is    easy    for    you,    you're    all 

blushes  and  smiles: 
But,  love  of  my  heart,  I  am  sorely 

perplexed ; 

I  am  smiling  one  minute  and  sigh- 
ing the  next; 
And  if  it  goes  on,  I  '11  drop  hackle 

and  flail, 
And  go  to  the  parson  and  tell  him 

my  tale. 
I   warrant   he  '11   find   me   a  cure 

for  the  sigh 
That   you  're   aye   bringing   forth 

with  the  glance  of  your  eye. 

EXPECTATION 

You  'LL  be  wonderin'  whut  's  de 
reason 

I  Js  a  grinnin'  all  de  time, 
An'  I  guess  you  t'ink  my  sperits 

Mus'  be  feelin'  mighty  prime. 


[131] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Well,  I  'fess  up,  I  is  tickled 
As  a  puppy  at  his  paws. 

But  you  need  n't  think  I  's  crazy, 
I  ain'  laffin'  'dout  a  cause. 

You  's  a  wonderin'  too,  I  reckon, 

Why  I  doesn't  seem  to  eat, 
An'  I  notice  you  a  lookin' 

Lak  you  felt  completely  beat 
When  I  'fuse  to  tek  de  bacon, 

An'  don'  settle  on  de  ham. 
Don'  you  feel  no  feah  erbout  me, 

Jes'  keep  eatin',  an'  be  ca'm. 

Fu'  I 's  waitin'  an*  I 's  watchin' 

'Bout  a  little  t'ing  I  see  — 
D'  othah  night  I 's  out  a  walkin' 

An'  I  passed  a  'simmon  tree. 
Now  I  's  whettin'  up  my  hongry, 

An'  I  's  laffin'  fit  to  kill, 
Fu'  de  fros'  done  turned  de  'sim- 
mons, 

An'  de  possum  's  eat  his  fill. 

He  done  go'ged  hisse'f  owdacious, 

An'  he  stayin'  by  de  tree! 
Don'  you  know,  ol'  Mistah  Pos- 
sum 

Dat  you  gittin'  fat  fu'  me? 
'T  ain't  no  use  to  try  to  'spute  it, 

'Case    I    knows    you 's    gittin' 

sweet 
Wif  dat  'simmon  flavoh  thoo  you, 

So  I 's  waitin'  fu'  yo'  meat. 


An'  some  ebenin'  me  an  Towsah 
Gwine  to  come  an'  mek  a  call, 


We  jes'  drap  in  onexpected 
Fu'  to  shek  yo'  han',  dat 's  all. 

Oh,  I  knows  dat  you  '11  be  tickled, 
Seems  lak  I  kin  see  you  smile, 

So  pu'haps  I  mought  pu'suade  you 
Fu'  to  visit  us  a  while. 


LOVER'S  LANE 

SUMMAH  night  an'  sighin'  breeze, 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane; 
Frien'ly,   shadder-mekin'   trees, 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
White    folks'    wo'k    all    done    up 

gran' — 

Me  an'  'Mandy  han'-in-han' 
Struttin'  lak  we  owned  de  Ian', 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 

Owl  a-settin'  'side  de  road, 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane, 
Lookin'  at  us  lak  he  knowed 

Dis  uz  lovah's  lane. 
Go  on,  hoot  yo'  mou'nful  tune, 
You  ain'  nevah  loved  in  June, 
An'  come  hidin'  f'om  de  moon 

Down  in  lovah's  lane. 

Bush  it  ben'  an'  nod  an'  sway, 

Down  in  lovah's  lane, 
Try'n'  to  hyeah  me  whut  I  say 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
But  I  whispahs  low  lak  dis, 
An'  my  'Mandy  smile  huh  bliss  — 
Mistah  Bush  he  shek  his  fis', 

Down  in  lovah's  lane. 


[132] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Whut  I  keer  ef  day  is  long, 

Down  in  lovah's  lane. 
I  kin  allus  sing  a  song 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
An'  de  wo'ds  I  hyeah  an'  say 
Meks  up  fu'  de  weary  day 
Wen  I 's  strollin'  by  de  way, 
Down  in  lovah's  lane. 

An'  dis  t'ought  will  allus  rise 

Down  in  lovah's  lane; 
Wondah  whethah  in  de  skies 

Dey  's  a  lovah's  lane. 
Ef  dey  ain't,  I  tell  you  true, 
'Ligion  do  look  mighty  blue, 
'Cause  I  do'  know  whut  I  'd  do 
'Dout  a  lovah's  lane. 


PROTEST 

WHO  say  my  hea't  ain't  true  to 

you? 

Dey  bettah  heish  dey  mouf. 
I  knows  I  loves  you  thoo  an'  thoo 

In  watah  time  er  drouf. 
I    wush    dese   people  'd    stop    dey 

talkin', 
Don't  mean  no  mo'  dan  chicken's 

squawkin' : 
I  guess  I  knows  which  way  I 's 

walkin', 
I  knows  de  norf  f'om  souf. 

I  does  not  love  Elizy  Brown, 
I  guess  I  knows  my  min'. 

You  allus  try  to  tek  me  down 
Wid  evaht'ing  you  fin'. 


Ef  dese  hyeah  folks  will  keep  on 

fillin' 
Yo'  haid  wid  nonsense,  an'  you  's 

willin' 

I  bet  some  day  dey '11  be  a  killin' 
Somewhaih  along  de  line. 

O'  cose  I  buys  de  gal  ice-cream, 

Whut  else  I  gwine  to  do  ? 
I    knows   jes'    how   de   t'ing  'u'd 

seem 

Ef  I  'd  be  sho't  wid  you. , 
On     Sunday,     you 's     at     chu'ch 

a-shoutin', 
Den   all   de   week   you   go  'roun' 

poutin' — 
I 's     mighty     tiahed     o'     all     dis 

doubtin', 
I  tell  you  cause  I 's  true. 


HYMN 

O  LI'L'  lamb  out  in  de  col', 
De  Mastah  call  you  to  de  fol', 

OliTlamb! 

He  hyeah  you  bleatin'  on  de  hill ; 
Come  hyeah  an'  keep  yo'  mou'nin' 
still, 

O  liT  lamb! 

De  Mastah  sen'  de  Shepud  fo'f  ; 
He  wandah  souf,  he  wandah  no'f, 

O  liT  lamb! 
He     wandah     eas',     he     wandah 

wes' ; 
De  win'  a-wrenchin'  at  his  breas', 

O  liT  lamb! 


[133] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Oh,  tell  de  Shepud  whafh  you  hide ;  Who  is  it  all  de  day  nevah  once 

He  want  you  walkin'  by  his  side,  tries 

O  liT  lamb !  Fu'  to  be  cross,  er  once  loses  dat 

He  know  you  weak,  he  know  you  smile? 

so' ;  Whah  did  you  git  dem  teef  ?     My, 

But  come,  don'  stay  away  no  mo',  you  's  a  scamp ! 

O  lil'  lamb !  Whah  did  dat  dimple  come  f ' om 

An'  af  'ah  while  de  lamb  he  hyeah  pappy  ^/^             _  j  blieyes 

De  Shepud  s  voice  a-callm  cleah  -  yQu  ,g  a  tramp 

Sweet  hi   lamb  Mammy>   ^  h         ,g 

He  answah  f  om  de  brambles  thu:k,  §          ^          [n 
O  Shepud,  I 's  a-comin'  quick    — 

O  liT  lamb !  Let 's  th'ow  him  outen  de  do'  in 

de  san', 

LITTLE  BROWN  BABY  We  d°'  want  stragSlers  a'laym' 

'roun'  hyeah; 

LITTLE  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin'  Let's    gin    him    'way    to    de    big 

eyes,  buggah-man  ; 

Come  to  yo'  pappy  an'  set  on  his  I     know    he  's    hidin'     erroun' 

knee.  hyeah  right  neah. 

What  you  been  doin',  suh  —  mak-  Buggah-man,    buggah-man,    come 

in'  san'  pies?  in  de  do', 

Look    at    dat    bib  —  you  's    ez  Hyeah  's  a  bad  boy  you  kin  have 

du'ty  ez  me.  fu'  to  eat. 

Look  at   dat   mouf  —  dat 's  mer-  Mammy  an'  pappy  do'  want  him 

lasses,  I  bet;  no  mo', 

Come  hyeah,   Maria,   an'  wipe  S  waller  him  down  f'om  his  haid 

off  his  ban's.  to  his  feet! 
Bees  gwine  to  ketch  you  an'  eat 

you  up  yit,  ^a^>    now>    *   fought   dat   you  'd 

Bein'  so  sticky  an  sweet  —  good-  huS  me  UP  close- 

ness  lan's!  Go  back,  oF  buggah,  you  sha'n't 

have  dis  boy. 

Little    brown    baby    wif    spa'klin'  He  ain't  no  tramp,  ner  no  strag- 

eyes,  gler,  of  co'se; 

Who 's      pappy's      darlin'      an'  He 's  pappy's  pa'dner  an'  play- 

who  's  pappy's  chile?  mate  an'  joy. 

[134] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Come  to  you'  pallet  now  —  go  to 

yo'  res'; 
Wisht    you    could    allus    know 

ease  an'  cleah  skies; 
Wisht  you  could  stay  jes'  a  chile 

on  my  breas' — 

Little  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin' 
eyes! 


TIME  TO  TINKER  'ROUN'! 

SUMMAH  's  nice,  wif  sun  a-shinin', 
Spring  is  good  wif  greens  and 

grass, 
An'   dey  's  some  t'ings  nice  'bout 

wintah, 
Dough    hit    brings    de    freezin' 

bias; 
But  de  time  dat  is  de  fines', 

Whethah  fiel's  is  green  er  brown, 
Is  w'en  de  rain  's  a-po'in' 

An'  dey  's  time  to  tinker  'roun. 


Den 


de    mule's    ol' 


you    men  s 
ha'ness, 

An'  you  men's  de  broken  chair. 
Hummin'  all  de  time  you  's  wo'kin' 

Some  ol'  common  kind  o'  air. 
Evah  now  an'  then  you  looks  out, 

Tryin'  mighty  ha'd  to  frown, 
But  you  cain't,   you 's  glad  hit 's 

rainin', 
An'  dey  's  time  to  tinker  'roun'. 


Oh,  you  'ten's  lak  you  so  anxious 
Evah  time  it  so't  o'  stops. 


W'en  hit  goes  on,  den  you  reckon 

Dat  de  wet  '11  he'p  de  crops. 
But  hit  ain't  de  crops  you  's  af tah  ; 
You  knows  w'en  de  rain  comes 

down 
Dat 's    hit 's    too     wet     out     fu' 

wo'kin', 
An*  dey  's  time  to  tinker  roun'. 

Oh,  dey  's  fun  inside  de  co'n-crib, 

An'  dey  's  laffin'  at  de  ba'n  ; 
An'   dey 's  allus  some  one  jokin', 

Er  some  one  to  tell  a  ya'n. 
Dah  's  a  quiet  in  yo'  cabin, 

Only  fu'  de  rain's  sof  soun'; 
So  you  's  mighty  blessed  happy 

W'en     dey 's     time     to     tinker 


THE  REAL  QUESTION 

FOLKS  is  talkin'  'bout  de  money, 

'bout  de  silvah  an'  de  gold; 
All  de  time  de  season  's  changin' 

an'  de  days  is  gittin'  cold. 
An'     dey 's    wond'rin'     'bout     de 

metals,  whethah  we'll  have 

one  er  two. 
While  de  price  o'  coal  is  risin'  an* 

dey 's     two     months'     rent 

dat 's  due. 

Some  folks  says  dat  gold  's  de  only 
money  dat  is  wuff  de  name, 

Den  de  othahs  rise  an'  tell  'em 
dat  dey  ought  to  be  ashame, 


[135] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  dat  silvah  is  de  only  thing  to 
save  us  f'om  de  powah 

Of  de  gold-bug  ragin'  'roun'  an' 
seekin'  who  he  may  de- 
vowah. 


Well,    you    folks    kin 


keep    on 
gold    er 


shoutin'    wif   yo' 

silvah  cry, 
But    I    tell   you   people   hams   is 

sceerce  an'  fowls  is  roostin' 

high. 
An'  hit  ain't  de  so't  o'  money  dat 

is  pesterin'  my  min', 
But  de  question  I  want  answehed  's 

how  to  get  at  any  kin'! 


JILTED 

LUCY  done  gone  back  on  me, 

Dat 's  de  way  wif  life. 
Evaht'ing  was  movin'  free, 
T'ought  I  had  my  wife. 
Den  some  dahky  comes  along, 
Sings  my  gal  a  little  song, 
Since  den,  evaht'ing  's  gone  wrong, 
Evah  day  dey  's  strife. 

Did  n't  answeh  me  to-day, 

Wen  I  called  huh  name, 
Would  you  t'ink  she  'd  ac'  dat  way 

W'en  I  ain't  to  blame? 
Dat 's  de  way  dese  women  do, 
W'en  dey  fin's  a  fellow  true, 
Den  dey  'buse  him  thoo  an'  thoo; 
Well,  hit 's  all  de  same. 


Somep'n's  wrong  erbout  my  lung, 

An'  I 's  glad  hit 's  so. 
Doctah  says  'at  L'll  die  young, 

Well,  I  wants  to  go! 
Whut  's  de  use  o'  livin'  hyeah, 
W'en  de  gal  you  loves  so  deah, 
Goes  back  on  you  clean  an'  cleah  — 

I  sh'd  like  to  know? 


THE  NEWS 

WHUT  dat  you  whisperin'  keepin' 

f'om  me? 
Don't  shut  me  out  'cause  I 's  oP 

an'  can't  see. 
Somep'n's      gone      wrong      dat 's 

a-causin'  you  dread, — 
Don't  be  afeared  to  tell  —  Whut ! 

mastah  dead? 

Somebody   brung    de    news    early 

to-day, — 
One  of  de  sojers  he  led,  do  you 

say? 
Didn't  he  foller  whah  oP  mastah 

lead? 
How  kin  he  live  w'en  his  leadah 

is  dead? 

Let  me  lay  down  awhile,  dah  by 

his  bed; 
I  wants  to  t'ink, —  hit  ain't  cleah 

in  my  head :  — - 
Killed  while  a-leadin'  his  men  into 

fight,— 
Dat 's  whut  you  said,  ain't  it,  did 

I  hyeah  right? 


[136] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Mastah,  my  mastah,  dead  dah  in  He  wa'n't  nevah  used  to  plannin' 

de  fiel'  ?  'fo'  he  got  so  po'  an'  ol', 

Lif  me  up  some,  —  dah,  jes'  so  I  So  he  gwine  to  give  up  tryin',  an' 

kin  kneel.  de  homestead  mus'  be  sol'. 

I  was  too  weak  to  go  wid  him,  dey 

sa{(jj  I  kin  see  him  stan'in'  now  erpon 
Well,  now  I  '11  —  fin'  him  —  so  —  de  step  ez  cleah  ez  day, 

mastah  is  dead.  Wid   de   win*   a-kind   o'   fondlin' 

thoo    his    haih    all    thin    an' 


Yes,  suh,  I's  comin'  ez  fas'  ez  I 

kjn  _  An'  I  'membah  how  he  trimbled 

'Twas    kin'    o'    da'k,    but    hit's  when  he  said,  "  It  's  ha'd  fu' 

lightah  agin  :  me> 

P'omised  yo'  pappy  I  'd  allus  tek  Not  to  mek  7°'  Chrismus  brightah, 

keer  but  I  'low  it  wa'n't  to  be." 

Of  you,—  yes,   mastah,—  I  's  fol- 

lerin',—  hyeah!  Ar  de  women  was  a"crYin  •  an   de 

men,  too,  on  de  sly, 

An'  I  noticed  somep'n  shinin'  even 

in  ol'  Mastah's  eye. 

CHRISMUS  ON  THE  PLAN-     But  we  aU  stood  still  to  listen  ez 
TATION  01>  Ben  come  fom  de  crow(i 


T  ou  •  T7       T      •   j  t.«  An'   spoke   up,    a-try'n'   to   steady 

IT  was  Chrismus  Eve,  I  mind  hit  .  :        .  t     . 

,  ,          .  .         ,  ,  down   his  voice   and   mek   it 

lu    a  mighty  gloomy  day  — 

Bofe  de  weathah  an'  de  people  — 

not  a  one  of  us  was  gay  ;  ,.  Look  hyeah>   Mastah>   j  >g  bgen 
Cose    you  11    link    dat  s    rmghty  servin,  you>  fu>  lo,  des£ 

funny  'twell  I  try  to  mek  hit  ^s 

'  An'  now,  sence  we  's  got  freedom 
Fu  a  da  kys  allus  happy  when  de  ^    yQu  ,g    k{nd    Q,    ^    hit 

holidays  is  neah.  Jpears 

Dat  you  want  us  all  to  leave  you 
But  we  was  n't,   fu'   dat  mo'nin'  'cause  you  don't  t'ink  you  can 

Mastah  'd  tol'  us  we  mus'  go,  pay. 

He  'd   been  payin*  us  sence  free-  Ef  my  membry  has  n't  fooled  me, 

dom,  but  he  could  n't  pay  no  seem  dat  whut  I  hyead  you 

mo'  ;  say. 

[137] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


"  Er  in  othah  wo'ds,  you  wants  us 

to  fu'git  dat  you  's  been  kin', 
An'  ez  soon  ez  you  is  he'pless,  we  's 

to  leave  you  hyeah  behin'. 
Well,  ef  dat 's  de  way  dis  freedom 

ac's  on  people,  white  er  black, 
You  kin  jes'  tell  Mistah  Lincum 

fu'  to  tek  his  freedom  back. 

"  We  gwine  wo'k  dis  ol'  planta- 
tion fu'  whatevah  we  kin  git, 

Fu'  I  know  hit  did  suppo't  us,  an' 
de  place  kin  do  it  yit. 

Now  de  land  is  yo's,  de  hands  is 
ouahs,  an'  I  reckon  we  11  be 
brave, 

An'  we  '11  bah  ez  much  ez  you  do 
w'en  we  has  to  scrape  an' 
save." 

Ol'   Mastah   stood   dah  trimblin', 

but  a-smilin'  thoo  his  teahs, 
An'    den   hit   seemed   jes'    nachul- 

like,   de  place  fah  rung  wid 

cheahs, 
An'  soon  ez  dey  was  quiet,  some 

one  sta'ted  sof  an'  low: 
"Praise    God,"    an'    den    we    all 

jined    in,    "  from    whom    all 

blessin's  flow!" 

Well,   dey  was  n't   no  use  tryin', 

ouah  min's  was  sot  to  stay, 
An'  po'  ol'  Mastah  could  n't  plead 

ner  baig,  ner  drive  us  'way, 
An'  all  at  once,  hit  seemed  to  us, 

de  day  was  bright  agin, 
So  evahone  was  gay  dat  night,  an* 

watched  de  Chrismus  in. 


ANGELINA 

WHEN  de  fiddle  gits  to  singin'  out 

a  ol'  Vahginny  reel, 
An'  you  'mence  to  feel  a  ticklin'  in 

yo'  toe  an'  in  yo'  heel; 
Ef  you  t'ink  you  got  'uligion  an* 

you  wants  to  keep  it,  too, 
You  jes'  bettah  tek  a  hint  an'  git 

yo'self  clean  out  o'  view. 
Case   de  time  is  mighty  temptin' 

when     de     chune    is     in     de 

swing, 
Fu'  a  darky,  saint  or  sinner  man, 

to  cut  de  pigeon-wing. 
An'  you  could  n't  he'p  f'om  danc- 

in'  ef  yo'  feet  was  boun'  wif 

twine, 
When    Angelina    Johnson    comes 

a-swingin'  down  de  line. 

Don't  you  know  Miss  Angelina? 

She  's  de  da'lin'  of  de  place. 
W'y,  dey  ain't  no  high-toned  lady 

wif    sich    mannahs    an'    sich 

grace. 
She  kin  move  across  de  cabin,  wif 

its  planks  all  rough  an'  wo'; 
Jes'  de  same  's  ef  she  was  dancin' 

on  ol'  mistus'  ball-room  flo'. 
Fact  is,   you   do'   see   no  cabin  — • 

evaht'ing  you  see  look  grand, 
An'    dat    one    ol*    squeaky    fiddle 

soun'  to  you  jes'  lak  a  ban'  ; 
Cotton  britches  look  lak  broadclof 

an'  a  linsey  dress  look  fine, 
When    Angelina    Johnson    comes 

a-swingin'  down  de  line. 


[138] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Some  folks  say  dat  dancin  's  sin- 
ful, an'  de  blessed  Lawd,  dey 

say, 
Gwine   to   punish   us   fu'   steppin' 

w'en  we  hyeah  de  music  play. 
But  I  tell  you  I  don'  b'lieve  it,  fu' 

de  Lawd  is  wise  and  good, 
An'  he  made  de  banjo's  metal  an' 

he  made  de  fiddle's  wood, 
An'  he  made  de  music  in  dem,  so 

I  don'  quite  t'ink  he  '11  keer 
Ef  our  feet  keeps  time  a  little  to 

de  melodies  we  hyeah. 
W'y,    dey 's    somep'n'    downright 

holy    in    de    way    our    faces 

shine, 
When    Angelina    Johnson    comes 

a-swingin'  down  de  line. 

Angelina  steps  so  gentle,  Angelina 

bows  so  low, 
An'  she  Iff1  huh  sku't  so  dainty  dat 

huh  shoetop  skacely  show: 
An'  dem  teef  o'  huh'n  a-shinin',  ez 

she  tek  you  by  de  han' — 
Go  'way,  people,  d'  ain't  anothah 

sich  a  lady  in  de  Ian' ! 
When  she  's  movin'  thoo  de  riggers 

er  a-dancin'  by  huhse'f, 
Folks   jes'    stan'   stock-still   a-sta'- 

in',   an'   dey  mos'   nigh   hoi's 

dey  bref; 
An'  de  young  mens,  dey  's  a-sayin', 

"  I  's  gwine  mek  dat  damsel 

mine," 
When    Angelina    Johnson    comes 

a-swingin'  down  de  line. 


FOOLIN'  WID  DE  SEASONS 

SEEMS  lak  folks  is  mighty  curus 

In  de  way  dey  t'inks  an'  ac's. 
Dey  jes'  spen's  dey  days  a-mixin' 

Up  de  t'ings  in  almanacs. 
Now,  I  min'  my  nex'  do'  neigh- 
bour,— 

He  's  a  mighty  likely  man, 
But  he  nevah  t'inks  o'  nuffin 

'Ceptin'  jes'  to  plot  an'  plan. 

All  de  wintah  he  was  plannin' 

How  he  'd  gethah  sassafras 
Jes'  ez  soon  ez  evah  Springtime 

Put  some  greenness  in  de  grass. 
An'  he  'lowed  a  little  soonah 

He  could  stan'  a  coolah  breeze 
So  's  to  mek  a  little  money 

F'om  de  sugah-watah  trees. 

In  de  summah,  he  'd  be  waihin' 

Out  de  linin'  of  his  soul, 
Try  V  ca'ci'late  an'  fashion 

How  he  'd  git  his  wintah  coal  ; 
An'  I  b'lieve  he  got  his  jedgement 

Jes'  so  tuckahed  out  an'  thinned 
Dat  he  t'ought  a  robin's  whistle 

Was  de  whistle  of  de  wind. 

Why  won't  folks  gin  up  dey  plan- 
nin', 

An'  jes'  be  content  to  know 
Dat  dey  's  gittin'  all  dat 's  fu'  dem 

In  de  days  dat  come  an'  go? 
Why  won't  folks  quit  movin'  for- 

rard? 
Ain't  hit  bettah  jes'  to  stan' 


[139] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  be  satisfied  wid  livin' 
In  de  season  dat  's  at  ban'  ? 

Hit 's  enough  fu'  me  to  listen 

Wen  de  birds  is  singin'  'roun', 
'Dout  a-guessin'  whut  '11  happen 

Wen  de  snow  is  on  de  groun'. 
In  de  Springtime  an'  de  summah, 

I  lays  sorrer  on  de  she'f; 
An'  I  knows  ol'  Mistah  Wintah 

Gwine  to  hustle  fu'  hisse'f. 

We  been  put  hyeah  fu'  a  pu'pose, 

But  de  questun  dat  has  riz 
An'  made  lots  o'  people  diffah 

Is  jes'  whut  dat  pu'pose  is. 
Now,  accordin'  to  my  reas'nin', 

Hyeah 's    de    p'int    whaih    I 's 

arriv, 
Sence  de  Lawd  put  life  into  us, 

We  was  put  hyeah  fu'  to  live! 


MY  SORT  O'  MAN 

I  DON'T  believe  in  'ristercrats 

An'  never  did,  you  see ; 
The  plain  ol'  homelike  sorter  folks 

Is  good  enough  fur  me. 
O'  course,  I  don't  desire  a  man 

To  be  too  tarnal  rough, 
But  then,  I  think  all  folks  should 
know 

When  they  air  nice  enough. 


Who  want  to  be  so  awful  nice 

They  overdo  the  thing. 
That 's  jest  the  thing  that  makes 

me  sick, 

An'  quicker  'n  a  wink 
I    set    it    down    that    them    same 

folks 

Ain't    half    so    good    's    you 
think. 

I  like  to  see  a  man  dress  nice, 

In   clothes   becomin'   too; 
I  like  to  see  a  woman  fix 

As  women  orter  to  do; 
An'  boys  an'  gals  I  like  to  see 

Look    fresh    an'    young    an' 

spry,— 
We  all  must  have  our  vanity 

An'  pride  before  we  die. 

But    I    jedge    no    man    by    his 
clothes, — 

Nor  gentleman  nor  tramp; 
The  man  that  wears  the  finest  suit 

May  be  the  biggest  scamp, 
An'  he  whose  limbs  air  clad  in  rags 

That  make  a  mournful  sight, 
In    life's    great    battle    may    have 
proved 

A  hero  in  the  fight. 


Now   there    is   folks   in   this   here 

world, 
From  peasant  up  to  king, 


I  don't  believe  in  'ristercrats  ; 

I  like  the  honest  tan 
That  lies  upon  the  healthful  cheek 

An'  speaks  the  honest  man  ; 
I  like  to  grasp  the  brawny  hand 

That  labor's  lips  have  kissed, 
[140] 


PAUL  LAURENCE   DUNBAR 


For  he  who  has  not  labored  here 
Life's     greatest      pride      has 
missed : 

The  pride  to  feel  that  yore  own 

strength 

Has  cleaved  fur  you  the  way 
To  heights  to  which  you  were  not 

born, 

But  struggled  day  by  day. 
What  though  the  thousands  sneer 

an'  scoff, 

An'  scorn  yore  humble  birth? 
Kings   are  but  puppets;   you   are 

king 
By  right  o'  royal  worth. 

The  man  who  simply  sits  an'  waits 

Fur  good  to  come  along, 
Ain't  worth  the  breath   that  one 
would  take 

To  tell  him  he  is  wrong. 
Fur  good  ain't  flowin'  round  this 
world 

Fur  every  fool  to  sup; 
You  Ve  got  to  put  yore  see-ers  on, 

An'  go  an'  hunt  it  up. 

Good  goes  with  honesty,  I  say, 

To  honour  an'  to  bless; 
To  rich  an'  poor  alike  it  brings 

A  wealth  o'  happiness. 
The  'ristercrats  ain't  got  it  all, 

Fur  much  to  their  su'prise, 
That 's  one  of  earth's  most  blessed 

things 
They  can't  monopolize. 


POSSUM 

EF  dey  's  anyt'ing  dat  riles  me 

An'  jes'  gits  me  out  o'  hitch, 
Twell  I  want  to  tek  my  coat  off, 

So  's  to  r'ar  an'  t'ar  an'  pitch, 
Hit 's  to  see  some   ign'ant  white 
man 

'Mittin'  dat  owdacious  sin  — 
Wen  he  want  to  cook  a  possum 

Tekin'  off  de  possum's  skin. 

W'y  dey  ain't  no  use  in  talkin', 
Hit  jes'  hu'ts  me  to  de  hea't 

Fu'  to  see  dem  foolish  people 
Th'owin'  'way  de  fines'  pa't. 

W'y,  dat  skin  is  jes'  ez  tendah 

An'  ez  juicy  ez  kin  be; 

I  knows  all  erbout  de  critter  — 
Hide   an'   haih  —  don't  talk   to 
me! 

Possum  skin  is  jes  lak  shoat  skin; 

Jes'    you    swinge    an'    scrope    it 

down, 
Tek  a  good  sha'p  knife  an'  sco'  it, 

Den  you  bake  it  good  an'  brown. 
Huh-uh !  honey,  you  's  so  happy 
Dat  yo'  thoughts  is  'mos*  a  sin 
When  you  's  settin'  dah  a-chawin' 

On  dat  possum's  cracklin'  skin. 

White  folks  t'ink  dey  know  'bout 
eatin', 

An'  I  reckon  dat  dey  do 
Sometimes  git  a  little  idee 

Of  a  middlin'  dish  er  two; 


[HI] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But  dey  ain't  a  t'ing  dey  knows  of 
Dat  I  reckon  cain't  be  beat 

Wen  we  set  down  at  de  table 
To  a  unskun  possum's  meat! 


ON  THE  ROAD 

I 's  boun'  to  see  my  gal  to-night  — 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
De  moon  ain't  out,  de  stars  ain't 

bright  — 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
Dis  hoss  o'  mine  is  pow'ful  slow, 
But  when  I  does  git  to  yo'  do' 
Yo'  kiss  '11  pay  me  back,  an'  mo', 
Dough  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 

De  night  is  skeery-lak  an'  still  — 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
'Cept   fu'   dat   mou'nful   whippo'- 

will  — 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
De  way  so  long  wif  dis  slow  pace, 
'T  Vd  seem  to  me  lak  savin'  grace 
Ef  you  was  on  a  nearer  place, 
Fu'  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 

I  hyeah  de  hootin'  of  de  owl  — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
I   wish   dat   watch-dog  would  n't 

howl  — 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie! 
An'  evaht'ing,  bofe  right  an'  lef, 
Seem  p'int'ly  lak  hit  put  itse'f 
In  shape  to  skeer  me  half  to  def  — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie ! 


I  whistles  so  's  I  won't  be  feared  — » 

Oh  lone  de  way,  my  dearie ! 
But  anyhow  I 's  kin'  o'  skeered, 
Fu'  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 
De  sky  been  lookin'  mighty  glum, 
But  you  kin  mek  hit  lighten  some, 
Ef  you  11  jes'   say  you 's  glad   I 

come, 
Dough  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 

A  DEATH  SONG 

LAY  me  down  beneaf  de  willers  in 

de  grass, 
Whah  de  branch  '11  go  a-singin'  as 

it  pass. 

An'  w'en  I  's  a-layin'  low, 
I  kin  hyeah  it  as  it  go 
Singin',  "  Sleep,  my  honey,  tek  yo' 
res'  at  las'." 

Lay  me  nigh  to  whah  hit  meks  a 

little  pool, 
An'  de  watah  Stan's  so  quiet  lak 

an'  cool, 

Whah  de  little  birds  in  spring, 
Ust  to  come  an'  drink  an'  sing, 
An'  de  chillen  waded  on  dey  way 
to  school. 

Let  me  settle  w'en  my  shouldahs 

draps  dey  load 
Nigh  enough  to  hyeah  de  noises  in 

de  road; 

Fu'  I  t'ink  de  las'  long  res' 
Gwine  to  soothe  my  sperrit  bes* 
Ef  I 's  layin'  'mong  de  t'ings  I 's 
allus  knowed. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


A  BACK-LOG  SONG 

DE   axes   has   been   ringin'   in   de 

woods  de  blessid  day, 
An'  de  chips  has  been  a-fallin' 

fa'  an'  thick; 
Dey  has  cut  de  bigges'  hick'ry  dat 

de  mules  kin  tote  away, 
An'    dey  's   laid   hit   down    and 

soaked  it  in  de  crik. 
Den  dey  tuk  hit  to  de  big  house  an' 
dey  piled  de  wood  erroun' 
In  de  fiah-place  f'om  ash-flo'  to 

de  flue, 

While  oP  Ezry  sta'ts  de  hymn  dat 
evah  yeah  has  got  to  soun' 
When    de    back-log    fus'    com- 
mence  a-bu'nin'   thoo. 

OP    Mastah    is    a-smilin'    on    de 

da'kies  f  om  de  hall, 
OP  Mistus  is  a-stannin'  in  de  do', 
An'    de    young    folks,    males    an' 

misses,  is  a-tryin',  one  an' 

all, 
Fu'  to  mek  us  feel  hit 's  Chris- 

mus  time  fu'  sho'. 
An'  ouah  hea'ts  are  full  of  pleasure, 

fu'    we    know    de    time    is 

ouahs 
Fu'  to  dance  er  do  jes'  whut  we 

wants  to  do. 
An'  dey  ain't  no  ovahseer  an'  no 

othah  kind  o'  powahs 
Dat  kin  stop  us  while  dat  log 

is  bu'nin  thoo. 


Dey  's  a-wokin'  in  de  qua'tahs  a- 

preparin'  fu'  de  feas', 
So  de  little  pigs  is  feelin'  kind  o' 

shy. 
De   chickens   ain't   so   trus'ful   ez 

dey  was,  to  say  de  leas', 
An'  de  wise  oP  hens  is  roostin' 

mighty  high. 
You  could  n't  git  a  gobblah  fu'  to 

look  you  in  de  face  — 
I    ain't    sayin'    whut    de    tu'ky 

'spects  is  true; 
But  hit 's  mighty  dange'ous  trav'- 

lin'   fu'   de   critters   on   de 

place 
F'om  de  time  dat  log  commence  a 

bu'nin'  thoo. 

Some   one 's   tunin'   up   his   fiddle 

dah,  I  hyeah  a  banjo's  ring, 

An',  bless  me,  dat 's  de  tootin'  of 

a  ho'n! 

Now  dey  '11  evah  one  be  runnin' 

dat  has  got  a  foot  to  fling, 

An'  dey  '11  dance  an'  frolic  on 

f'om  now  'twell  mo'n. 
Plunk  de  banjo,   scrap   de   fiddle, 
blow  dat  ho'n  yo'  level  bes', 
Keep  yo'  min'  erpon  de  chune 

an'  step  it  true. 

Oh,  dey  ain't  no  time  fu'  stoppin' 
an'  dey  ain't  no  time  fu' 
res', 

Fu'  hit 's  Chrismus  an'  de  back- 
log 's  bu'nin'   thoo ! 


[143] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


LULLABY 

BEDTIME  's  come  fu'  little  boys. 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Too  tiahed  out  to  make  a  noise, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

You  gwine  t'  have  to-morrer  sho'  ? 
Yes,  3'ou  tole  me  dat  befo', 
Don't  you  fool  me,  chile,  no  mo', 

Po'  little  lamb. 

You  been  bad  de  livelong  day, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Th'owin'  stones  an'  runnin'  'way, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

My,  but  you  's  a-runnin'  wil', 
Look  jes'  lak  some  po'  folks  chile; 
Mam'  gwine  whup  you  atter  while, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Come  hyeah!  you  mos'  tiahed  to 
def, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Played  yo'se'f  clean  out  o'  bref, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

See  dem  ban's  now  —  sich  a  sight ! 
Would    you    evah    b'lieve     dey's 

white? 
Stan'  still  twell  I  wash  'em  right, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Jes'  cain't  hoi'  yo'  haid  up  straight, 

.    Po'  little  lamb. 
Had  n't  oughter  played  so  late, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Mammy  do'  know  whut  she  'd  do, 
Ef  de  chillun's  all  lak  you; 
You  's  a  caution  now  fu'  true,   . 
Po'  little  lamb. 


Lay  yo'  haid  down  in  my  lap, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Y'  ought  to  have  a  right  good  slap, 

Po'  little  larnb. 

You  been  runnin'  roun'  a  heap. 
Shet  dem  eyes  an'  don't  you  peep, 
Dah  now,  dah  now,  go  to  sleep, 

Po'  little  lamb. 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH 

SEE  dis  pictyah  in  my  han'  ? 

Dat 's  my  gal  ; 
Ain't  she  purty?  goodness  Ian'! 

Huh  name  Sal. 
Dat 's  de  very  way  she  be  — 
Kin'  o'  tickles  me  to  see 
Huh  a-smilin'  back  at  me. 

She  sont  me  dis  photygraph 

Jes'  las'  week; 
An'  aldough  hit  made  me  laugh  — 

My  black  cheek 
Felt  somethin'  a-runnin'  queer; 
Bless  yo'  soul,  it  was  a  tear 
Jes'  f'om  wishin'  she  was  here. 

Often  when  I  's  all  alone 

Layin'  here, 
I  git  t'inkin'  'bout  my  own 

Sallie  dear; 

How  she  say  dat  I 's  huh  beau, 
An'  hit  tickles  me  to  know 
Dat  de  gal  do  love  me  so. 


Some  bright  day  I  's  goin'  back, 
Fo'dela! 


[144] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


An'  ez  sho'  's  my  face  is  black, 

Ax  huh  pa 

Fu'  de  blessed  little  miss 
Who  's  a-smilin'  out  o  dis 
Pictyah,  lak  she  wan'ed  a  kiss! 

JEALOUS 

HYEAH  come  Cassar  Higgins, 
Don't  he  think  he  's  fine? 
Look  at  dem  new  riggin's 
Ain't  he  tryin'  to  shine? 
Got  a  standin'  collar 
An'  a  stove-pipe  hat, 
I  '11  jes'  bet  a  dollar 
Some  one  gin  him  dat. 

Don't  one  o'  you  mention, 
Nothin'  'bout  his  does, 
Don't  pay  no  attention, 
Er  let  on  you  knows 
Dat  he  's  got  'em  on  him, 
Why,  't  '11  mek  him  sick, 
Jes  go  on  an'  sco'n  him, 
My,  ain't  dis  a  trick ! 

Look  hyeah,  whut  's  he  doin' 
Lookin'  t'  othah  way? 
Dat  ere  move  's  a  new  one, 
Some  one  call  him,  "  Say!  " 
Can't  you  see  no  pusson  — 
Puttin'  on  you'  airs, 
Sakes  alive,  you  's  wuss'n 
Dese  hyeah  millionaires. 

Need  n't  git  so  flighty, 

Case  you  got  dat  suit. 

Dem  does  ain't  so  mighty, — 


Second  hand  to  boot, 

I  's  a-tryin'  to  spite  you ! 

Full  of  jealousy! 

Look  hyeah,  man,  I  '11  fight 

you, 
Don't  you  fool  wid  me! 


PARTED 

DE  breeze  is  blowin'  'cross  de  bay. 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
De  ship  hit  teks  me  far  away, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
Ole  Mas'  done  sol'  me  down  de 

stream ; 
Dey  tell  me  't  ain't  so  bad  's  hit 

seem, 
My  lady,  my  lady. 

O'  co'se  I  knows  dat  you  '11  be 

true, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
But  den  I  do'  know  whut  to  do, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
I  knowed  some  day  we  'd  have  to 

pa't, 
But  den  hit  put'  nigh  breaks  my 

hea't, 
My  lady,  my  lady. 

De  day  is  long,  de  night  is  black, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
I  know  you  '11  wait  twell  I  come 

back, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
I'll  stan'   de  ship,   I'll  stan'   de 
chain, 

[145] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But   I  '11   come   back,   my   darlin' 

Jane, 
My  lady,  my  lady. 

Jes'  wait,  jes'  b'lieve  in  whut   I 

say, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
D'  ain't  nothin'  dat  kin  keep  me 

'way, 

My  lady,  my  lady; 
A  man  's  a  man,  an'  love  is  love ; 
God  knows  ouah  hea'ts,  my  little 

dove; 
He'll    he'p    us    f'om    his    th'one 

above, 
My  lady,  my  lady. 


TEMPTATION 

I  DONE  got  'uligion,  honey,  an'  I  's 

happy  ez  a  king; 
Evahthing  I  see  erbout  me  's  jes' 

lak  sunshine  in  de  spring; 
An'  it  seems  lak  I  do'  want  to  do 

anothah  blessid  thing 


Talk  erbout  a  man  backslidin'  w'en 

he  's  on  de  gospel  way ; 
No,  suh,  I  done  beat  de  debbil,  an' 

Temptation  's  los'  de  day. 
Gwine    to    keep    my    eyes    right 

straight  up,  gwine  to  shet  my 

eahs,  an'  see 
Whut  ole  projick  Mistah  Satan  's 

gwine  to  try  to  wuk  on  me. 

Listen,   whut    dat   soun'    I    hyeah 

dah?  'tain't  no  one  commence 

to  sing; 
It's  a  fiddle;  git  erway  dah!  don' 

you       hyeah        dat       blessid 

thing? 
Wy,  dat 's  sweet  ez  drippin'  honey, 

'cause,  you  knows,  I  draws  de 

bow, 
An'    when    music 's    sho'    'nough 

music,   I  's  de  one  dat 's  sho' 

to  know. 


W'y,   I  's  done  de  double  shuffle, 

twell  a  body  could  n't  res', 

But  jes'  run  an'  tell  de  neighbours,      Jes'  a-hyeahin'  Sam  de  fiddlah  play 
an'    to    shout    an'    pray    an' 
sing. 


dat  chune  his  level  bes' ; 
I  could  cut  a  mighty  caper,  I  could 

gin  a  mighty  fling 
I  done  shuk  my  nV  at  Satan,  an'      Jes'  right  now,  I 's  mo'  dan  suttain 

I 's  gin  de  worl'  my  back  ; 
I  do'  want  no  hendrin'  causes  now 

a-both'rin'  in  my  track; 
Fu'  I  's  on  my  way  to  glory,  an'  I 

feels  too  sho'  to  miss.  holt  o'  me? 

W'y,   dey  ain't  no  use  in  sinnin'      Dat  ole  music  come  nigh  runnin' 
when  'uligion  's  sweet  ez  dis.  my  'uligion  up  a  tree ! 

[146] 


I  could  cut  de  pigeon  wing. 

Look  hyeah,  whut 's  dis  I  's  been 
?    whut    on    urf  's    tuk 


saym 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Cleah  out  wif  dat  dah  ole  fiddle, 
don'  you  try  dat  trick  agin ; 

Did  n't  think  I  could  be  tempted, 
but  you  lak  to  made  me  sin! 


POSSUM  TROT 

I  VE  journeyed  'roun'  consid'able, 

a-seein'  men  an'  things, 
An'   I  Ve  learned   a  little  of   the 

sense     that     meetin'     people 

brings  ; 
But  in  spite  of  all  my  travelling 

an'  of  all  I  think  I  know, 
I  Ve  got  one  notion  in  my  head, 

that  I  can't  git  to  go; 
An'  it  is  that  the  folks  I  meet  in 

any  other  spot 
Ain't    half    so    good    as    them    I 

knowed  back  home  in  Possum 

Trot. 

I    know   you  Ve   never  heerd   the 

name,     it     ain't     a     famous 

place, 
An'  I  reckon  ef  you  'd  search  the 

map  you  could  n't  find  a  trace 
Of  any  sich  locality  as  this  I  Ve 

named  to  you; 
But  never  mind,  I  know  the  place, 

an'  I  love  it  dearly  too. 
It   don't   make   no   pretensions   to 

bein'  great  or  fine, 
The  circuses  don't  come  that  way, 

they  ain't  no  railroad  line. 
It  ain't  no  great  big  city,  where 

the  schemers  plan  an'  plot, 


But   jest   a   little   settlement,   this 
place  called  Possum  Trot. 

But  don't  you  think  the  folks  that 

lived  in  that  outlandish  place 
Were  ignorant  of  all   the  things 

that  go  for  sense  or  grace. 
Why,  there  was  Hannah  Dyer,  you 

may  search  this  teemin'  earth 
An'  never  find  a  sweeter  girl,  er 

one  o'  greater  worth  ; 
An'    Uncle    Abner    Williams,    a- 

leanin'  on  his  staff, 
It  seems  like  I  kin  hear  him  talk, 

an'  hear  his  hearty  laugh. 
His  heart  was  big  an'  cheery  as  a 

sunny  acre  lot, 
Why,  that 's  the  kind  o'  folks  we 

had    down    there    at   Possum 

Trot. 

Good  times?     Well,  now,  to  suit 

my  taste, —  an'  I  'm  some  hard 

to  suit, — 
There  ain't  been  no  sich  pleasure 

sence,   an'  won't  be  none  to 

boot, 
With  huskin'  bees  in  Harvest  time, 

an'  dances  later  on, 
An'  singin'  school,  an  taffy  pulls, 

an'     fun     from     night     till 

dawn. 
Revivals  come  in  winter  time,  bap- 

tizin's  in  the  spring, 
You  'd  ought  to  seen  those  people 

shout,  an'  heerd  'em  pray  an' 

sing; 


[H7] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


You  'd  ought  to  Ve  heard  ole  Par- 
son Brown  a-throwin'  gospel 
shot 

Among  the  saints  an'  sinners  in 
the  days  of  Possum  Trot. 

We  live  up  in  the  city  now,  my 

wife  was  bound  to  come; 
I  hear  aroun'  me  day  by  day  the 

endless  stir  an'  hum. 
I  reckon  that  it  done  me  good,  an' 

yet  it  done  me  harm, 
That   oil  was   found   so   plentiful 

down  there  on  my  ole  farm. 
We  Ve  got  a  new-styled  preacher, 

our  church  is  new-styled  too, 
An'  I  Ve  come  down  from  what  I 

knowed   to  rent  a  cushioned 

pew. 
But  often  when  I  'm  settin'  there, 

it 's  foolish,  like  as  not, 
To  think  of  them  oP  benches  in 

the  church  at  Possum  Trot. 

I  know  that  I  'm  ungrateful,  an' 

sich  thoughts  must  be  a  sin, 
But  I  find  myself  a  wishin'  that 

the  times  was  back  agin. 
With  the  huskin's  an*  the  frolics, 

an*  the  joys  I  used  to  know, 
When  I  lived  at  the  settlement,  a 

dozen  years  ago. 
I  don't  feel  this  way  often,  I  'm 

scarcely  ever  glum, 
For  life  has  taught  me  how  to  take 

her  chances  as  they  come. 
But  now  an*  then  my  mind  goes 

back  to  that  ol'  buryin'  plot, 


That  holds  the  dust  of  some  I 
loved,  down  there  at  Possum 
Trot. 


DELY 

JES'  lak  toddy  wahms  you  thoo' 

Sets  yo'  haid  a  reelin', 
Meks  you  ovah  good  and  new, 

Dat  's  de  way  I  's  feelin'. 
Seems  to  me  hit's  summah  time, 

Dough   hit 's   wintah    reely, 
I  's  a  feelin'  jes'   dat  prime  — 

An'  huh  name  is  Dely. 

Dis  hyeah  love  's  a  cu'rus  thing, 

Changes  'roun'  de  season, 
Meks  you  sad  or  meks  you  sing, 

'Dout  no  urfly  reason. 
Sometimes  I   go  mopin'   'roun', 

Den  agin  I  's  leapin'; 
Sperits  allus  up  an'  down 

Even  when  I  's  sleepin*. 

Fu'  de  dreams  comes  to  me  den, 

An'  dey  keeps  me  pitchin', 
Lak  de  apple  dumplin's  w'en 

Bilin'  in  de  kitchen. 
Some  one  sot  to  do  me  hahm, 

Tryin'  to  ovahcome  me, 
Ketchin'  Dely  by  de  ahm 

So  's  to  tek  huh  f'om  me. 

Mon,  you  bettah  b'lieve  I  fights 
(Dough  hit's  on'y  seemin')  ; 

I  's  a  hittin'  fu'  my  rights 
Even  w'en  I 's  dreamin'. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


But  I  'd  let  you  have  'em  all, 

Give  'em  to  you  freely, 
Good  an'  bad  ones,  great  an'  small, 

So  's  you  leave  me  Dely. 

Dely  got  dem  meltin'  eyes, 

Big  an'  black  an'  tendah. 
Dely  jes'  a  lady-size, 

Delikit  an'  slendah. 
Dely  brown  ez  brown  kin  be 

An'  huh  haih  is  curly; 
Oh,  she  look  so  sweet  to  me, — 

Bless  de  precious  girlie! 

Dely  brown  ez  brown  kin  be, 

She  ain'  no  mullatter; 
She  pure  cullud, —  don'  you  see 

Dat  's  jes'  whut  's  de  mattah? 
Dat  's  de  why  I  love  huh  so, 

D'  ain't  no  mix  about  huh, 
Soon  's  you  see  huh  face  you  know 

D'  ain't  no  chanst  to  doubt  huh. 

Folks  dey  go  to  chu'ch  an'  pray 

So  's  to  git  a  blessin'. 
Oomph,  dey  bettah  come  my  way, 

Dey  could  lu'n  a  lesson. 
Sabbaf  day  I  don'  go  fu', 

Jes'  to  see  my  pigeon; 
I  jes'  sets  an'  looks  at  huh, 

Dat 's  enuff  'uligion. 

BREAKING  THE  CHARM 

CAUGHT  Susanner  whistlin' ;  well, 
It 's  most  nigh  too  good  to  tell. 
'Twould  'a'  b'en  too  good  to  see 
Ef  it  had  n't  b'en  fur  me, 


Comin'  up  so  soft  an'  sly 
That  she  didn'  hear  me  nigh. 
I  was  pokin'  'round  that  day, 
An'  ez  I  come  down  the  way, 
First  her  whistle  strikes  my  ears, — 
Then  her  gingham  dress  appears; 
So  with  soft  step  up  I  slips. 
Oh,  them  dewy,  rosy  lips! 
Ripe  ez  cherries,  red  an'  round, 
Puckered  up  to  make  the  sound. 
She  was  lookin'  in  the  spring, 
Whistlin'  to  beat  anything, — 
"  Kitty  Dale  "  er  "  In  the  Sweet." 
I  was  jest  so  mortal  beat 
That  I  can't  quite  ricoleck 
What  the  toon  was,  but  I  'speck 
'T  was  some  hymn  er  other,  fur 
Hymny  things  is  jest  like  her. 
Well  she  went  on  fur  awhile 
With  her  face  all  in  a  smile, 
An'  I  never  moved,  but  stood 
Stiller  'n  a  piece  o'  wood  — 
Would  n't  wink  ner  would  n't  stir, 
But  a-gazin'  right  at  her, 
Tell  she  turns  an*  sees  me  —  my! 
Thought  at  first  she'd  try  to  fly. 
But    she    blushed    an*    stood    her 

ground. 

Then,  a-slyly  lookin'  round, 
She    says :    "  Did    you    hear    me, 

Ben?" 

"  Whistlin'  woman,  crowin*  hen," 
Says  I,  lookin'  awful  stern.  • 
Then  the  red  commenced  to  burn 
In  them  cheeks  o'  hern.     Why,  la! 
Reddest  red  you  ever  saw  — 
Pineys  wa'n't  a  circumstance. 


[H9] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


You  'd  'a'  noticed  in  a  glance 
She    was    pow'rful    shamed    an' 

skeart ; 

But  she  looked  so  sweet  an*  peart, 
That  a  idee  struck  my  head ; 
So  I  up  an*  slowly  said : 
"Woman    whistlin'    brings   shore 

harm, 

Jest  one  thing  '11  break  the  charm." 
"And      what's      that?"     "Oh, 

my!  "  says  I, 
"I     don't     like     to     tell     you." 

"Why?" 

Says  Susanner.     "  Well,  you  see 
It  would  kinder  fall  on  me." 
Course  I  knowed  that  she  'd   in- 
sist,— 

So  I  says :  "  You  must  be  kissed 
By  the  man  that  heard  you  whistle ; 
Everybody  says  that  this  '11 
Break  the  charm  and  set  you  free 
From  the  threat'nin'  penalty." 
She  was  blushin'  fit  to  kill, 
But  she  answered,  kinder  still: 
"  I  don't  want  to  have  no  harm, 
Please  come,   Ben,  an'  break  the 

charm." 
Did    I    break   that   charm?  —  oh, 

well, 
There 's   some   things   I    must  n't 

tell. 

I  remember,  afterwhile, 
Her  a-sayin'  with  a  smile: 
"  Oh,  you  quit, —  you  sassy  dunce, 
You  jest  caught  me  whistlin'  once." 
Ev'ry  sence  that  when  I  hear 
Some  one  whistlin'  kinder  clear, 


I  most  break  my  neck  to  see 
Ef  it 's  Susy ;  but,  dear  me, 
I  jest  find  I  've  b'en  to  chase 
Some  blamed  boy  about  the  place. 
Dad  's  b'en  noticin'  my  way, 
An'  last  night  I  heerd  him  say: 
"We  must  send  fur  Dr.  Glenn, 
Mother ;   somethin  's  wrong  with 
Ben!" 


HUNTING  SONG 

TEK    a    cool    night,    good    an' 

cleah, 

Skiff  o'  snow  upon  de  groun' ; 
Jes'  'bout  fall-time  o'  de  yeah 
W'en    de    leaves    is    dry    an 

brown ; 
Tek  a  dog  an'  tek  a  axe, 

Tek  a  lantu'n  in  yo'  han', 
Step    light    whah    de    switches 

cracks, 

Fu'  dey  's  huntin'  in  de  Ian'. 
Down  thoo  de  valleys  an'  ovah  de 

hills, 
Into  de  woods  whah  de  'simmon- 

tree  grows, 
Wakin'  an'  skeerin'  de  po'  whip- 

po'wills, 

Huntin'  fu'  coon  an'  fu'  'possum 
we  goes. 

Blow  dat  ho'n  dah  loud  an' 
strong, 

Call  de  dogs  an'  da'kies  neah ; 
Mek  its  music  cleah  an'  long, 

So  de  folks  at  home  kin  hyeah. 


[150] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Blow  it  twell  de  hills  an'  trees 

Sen's  de  echoes  tumblin'  back ; 

Blow  it  twell  de  back'ard  breeze 

Tells    de    folks   we 's   on    de 

track. 
Coons  is   a-ramblin'   an'   'possums 

is  out  ; 
Look  at  dat  dog;  you  could  set 

on  his  tail! 
Watch  him  now  —  steady, —  min' 

—  what  you  's  about, 
Bless  me,   dat  animal 's  got  on 
de  trail! 

Listen  to  him  ba'kin  now ! 

Dat  means  bus'ness,  sho  's  you 

bo'n; 
Ef  he's  struck  de  scent  I  'low 

Dat  ere  'possum  's  sholy  gone. 
Knowed    dat    dog    fu'    fo'teen 
yeahs, 

An'  I  nevah  seed  him  fail 
Wen  he  sot  dem  flappin'  eahs 

An'  went  off  upon  a  trail. 


Dat    dog's    talked    his    level 

bes'. 
Somep'n'    's   treed,    I    know   de 

soun'. 
Dah     now, —  wha  'd     I     tell 

you  ?  see ! 
Dat    ere    dog    done    run    him 

down ; 
Come  hyeah,  he'p  cut  down 

dis  tree. 
Ah,  Mistah  'Possum,  we  got  you 

at  las' — 
Needn't  play  daid,  laying  dah 

on  de  groun'; 
Pros'   an'   de   'simmons  has  made 

you  grow  fas', — 
Won't    he   be   fine   when    he's 
roasted  up  brown! 


A  LETTER 


DEAR  Miss  LUCY:  I  been  t'inkin' 
dat  I  'd  write  you  long  fo'  dis, 
Run,    Mistah    'Possum,    an'    run,      But  dis  writin'  's  mighty  tejous,  an' 

Mistah  Coon,  you  know  jes'  how  it  is. 

No  place  is  safe  fu'  yo'  ramblin'      But  I 's  got  a  little  lesure,  so  I  teks 

to-night;  my  pen  in  han' 

Mas'  gin'  de  lantu'n  an'  God  gin      Fu'  to  let  you  know  my  feelin's 

de  moon,  since  I  retched  dis  furrin'  Ian'. 

An'  a  long  hunt  gins  a  good  ap-      I 's  right  well,  I 's  glad  to  tell  you 

petite.  (dough   dis   climate   ain't   to 

blame) , 

Look   hyeah,    folks,   you   hyeah     An'  I  hopes  w'en  dese  lines  reach 
dat  change  ?  you,  dat  dey  '11  fin'  yo'  se'f  de 

Dat  ba'k  is  sha'per  dan  de  res'.  same. 

Dat     ere    soun'     ain't    nothin'      Cose  I  'se  feelin  kin'  o'  homesick 
strange, —  —  dat 's  ez  nachul  ez  kin  be, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Wen  a  feller  's  mo'n  th'ee  thou- 
sand  miles  across  dat  awful 

sea. 
(Don't  you  let   nobidy    fool   you 

'bout  de  ocean  bein'  gran'; 
If  you  want  to  see  de  billers,  you 

jes'  view  dem  f'om  de  Ian'.) 
'Bout  de  people  ?     We  been  t'inkin' 

dat  all  white  folks  was  alak; 
But   dese    Englishmen    is    diffunt, 

an'  dey  's  curus  fu'  a  fac'. 
Fust,  dey  's  heavier  an'  redder  in 

dey  make-up  an'  dey  looks, 
An*  dey  don't  put  salt  nor  pepper 

in  a  blessed  t'ing  dey  cooks! 
Wen  dey  gin  you  good  ol'  tu'nips, 

ca'ots,     pa'snips,     beets,     an' 

sich, 
Ef  dey  ain't  some  one  to  tell  you, 

you  cain't  'stinguish  which  is 

which. 
Wen  I  t'ought  I 's  eatin'  chicken 

—  you  may  b'lieve  dis  hyeah  's 
a  lie  — 

But  de  waiter  beat  me  down  dat  I 

was  eatin'  rabbit  pie. 
An'  dey  'd  t'ink  dat  you  was  crazy 

—  jes'  a  reg'lar  ravin'  loon, 
Ef  you  'd  speak  erbout  a  'possum 

or  a  piece  o'  good  ol'  coon. 
O,  hit 's  mighty  nice,  dis  trav'lin', 

an'  I 's  kin'  o'  glad  I  come. 
But,  I  reckon,  now  I 's  willin'  fu' 

to  tek  my  way  back  home. 
I  done  see  de  Crystal  Palace,  an' 

I 's    hyeahd    dey    string-band 

play, 


But  I  has  n't  seen  no  banjos  layin* 

nowhahs  roun'  dis  way. 
Jes'  gin  ol'  Jim  Bowles  a  banjo, 

an*  he  'd  not  go  very  fu', 
'Fo'  he  'd  outplayed  all  dese  fid- 
dlers,   wif    dey    flourish    and 

dey  stir. 
Evahbiddy   dat   I 's   met   wif   has 

been  monst'ous  kin  an'  good; 
But  I  t'ink  I  'd  lak  it  better  to  be 

down  in  Jones's  wood, 
Where  we  ust  to  have  sich  frolics, 

Lucy,  you  an'  me  an'  Nelse, 
Dough  my  appetite  'ud  call  me,  ef 

dey  wasn't  nuffin  else. 
I  'd  jes'  lak  to  have  some  sweet- 

pertaters  roasted  in  de  skin; 
I 's  a-longin'  fu'  my  chittlin's  an' 

my  mustard  greens  ergin; 
I  's  a-wishin'  fu'  some  buttermilk, 

an'     co'n     braid,     good     an' 

brown, 
An'  a  drap  o'  good  ol'  bourbon  fu' 

to  wash  my  feelin's  down! 
An'  I 's  comin'  back  to  see  you  jes' 

as  ehly  as  I  kin, 
So  you  better  not  go  spa'kin'  wif 

dat  wuffless  scoun'el  Quin! 
Well,  I  reckon,  I  mus'  close  now; 

write   ez   soon 's    dis   reaches 

you; 
Gi'  my  love  to  Sister  Mandy  an* 

to  Uncle  Isham,  too. 
Tell  de  folks  I  sen'  'em  howdy; 

gin  a  kiss  to  pap  an'  mam ; 
Closin'  I  is,  deah  Miss  Lucy, 
Still  Yo'  Own  True-Lovin'  SAM. 


[152] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


P.  S.    Ef  you  cain't  mek  out  dis 

letter,  lay  it  by  erpon  de  she'f, 

An'  when  I  git  home,  I  '11  read 

it,  darlin',  to  you  my  own  se'f. 


CHRISMUS  IS  A-COMIN' 

BONES  a-gittin'  achy, 
Back  a-feelin'  col', 
Han's  a-growin'  shaky, 
Jes'  lak  I  was  ol'. 
Pros'  erpon  de  meddah 
Lookin'  mighty  white; 
Snowdraps  lak  a  feddah 
Slippin'  down  at  night. 
Jes'  keep  t'ings  a-hummin' 
Spite  o'  fros'  an'  showahs, 
Chrismus   is   a-comin' 
An'  all  de  week  is  ouahs. 

Little  mas'  a-axin', 
"Who  is  Santy  Glaus?" 
Meks  it  kin'  o'  taxin' 
Not  to  brek  de  laws. 
Chillun  's  pow'ful  tryin' 
To  a  pusson's  grace 
Wen  dey  go  a  pryin' 
Right  on  th'oo  you'  face 
Down  ermong  yo'  feelin's; 
Jes'  'pears  lak  dat  you 
Got  to  change  you'  dealin's 
So  's  to  tell  'em  true. 

An*  my  pickaninny  — 
Dreamin'  in  his  sleep! 
Come  hyeah,  Mammy  Jinny, 
Come  an'  tek  a  peep. 


Ol'  Mas'  Bob  an'  Missis 
In  dey  house  up  daih 
Got  no  chile  lak  dis  is, 
D'  ain't  none  anywhaih. 
Sleep,  my  little  lammy, 
Sleep,  you  little  limb, 
He  do'  know  whut  mammy 
Done  saved  up  fu'  him. 

Dey  '11  be  banjo  pickin', 
Dancin'  all  night  thoo. 
Dey  '11  be  lots  o'  chicken, 
Plenty  tukky,  too. 
Drams  to  wet  yo'  whistles 
So  's  to  drive  out  chills. 
Whut  I  keer  fu'  drizzles 
Fallin'  on  de  hills? 
Jes'  keep  t'ings  a-hummin' 
Spite  o'  col'  an'  showahs, 
Chrismus  day  's  a-comin', 
An'  all  de  week  is  ouah* 


A  CABIN  TALE 

THE   YOUNG   MASTER   ASKS   FOR   A 
STORY 

WHUT  you   say,   dah?  huh,   uh! 

chile, 

You  's  enough  to  dribe  me  wile. 
Want  a  sto'y;  jes'  hyeah  dat! 
Whah'  '11  I  git  a  sto'y  at? 
Di'n'  I  tell  you  th'ee  las'  night? 
Go  'way,  honey,  you  ain't  right. 
I  got  somep'n'  else  to  do, 
'Cides  jes'  tellin'  tales  to  you. 
Tell  you  jes'  one?     Lem  me  see 
Whut  dat  one  's  a-gwine  to  be. 


[153] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


When,  you  's  ole,  yo  membry  fails ; 
Seems  lak  I  do'  know  no  tales. 
Well,  set  down  dah  in  dat  cheer, 
Keep  still  ef  you  wants  to  hyeah. 
Tek  dat  chin  up  off  yo'  han's, 
Set  up  nice  now.     Goodness  lan's! 
Hoi'  yo'se'f  up  lak  yo'  pa. 
Bet  nobidy  evah  saw 
Him  scrunched  down  lak  you  was 

den  — 
High-tone    boys    meks    high-tone 

men. 

Once  dey  was  a  ole  black  bah, 
Used   to   live   'roun'   hyeah   some- 

whah 

In  a  cave.     He  was  so  big 
He  could  ca'y  off  a  pig 
Lak  you  picks  a  chicken  up, 
Er  yo'  leetles'  bit  o'  pup. 
An'  he  had  two  gread  big  eyes, 
Jes'  erbout  a  saucer's  size. 
Why,  dey  looked  lak  balls  o'  fiah 
Jumpin'   'roun'  erpon   a  wiah 
W'en  dat  bah  was  mad ;  an'  laws ! 
But  you  ought  to  seen  his  paws! 
Did  I  see  'em?     How  you  'spec 
I 's  a-gwine  to  ricollec' 
Dis  hyeah  ya'n  I 's  try'n'  to  spin 
Ef  you  keeps  on  puttin'  in? 
You  keep  still  an'  don't  you  cheep 
Less  1 11  sen'  you  off  to  sleep. 
Dis    hyeah    bah  'd     go     trompin' 

'roun' 

Eatin'  evahthing  he  foun'; 
No  one  could  n't  have  a  fa'm 
But  dat  bah  'u'd  do'  em  ha'm; 


And  dey  could  n't  ketch  de  scamp. 
Anywhah  he  wan'ed  to  tramp. 
Dah  de  scoun'el  'd  mek  his  track, 
Do  his  du't  an'  come  on  back. 
He  was  sich  a  sly  ole  limb, 
Traps  was  jes'  lak  fun  to  him. 

Now,  down  neah  whah  Mistah 

Bah 

Lived,  dey  was  a  weasel  dah; 
But  dey  wasn't  fren's  a-tall 
Case  de  weasel  was  so  small. 
An'  de  bah  'u'd,  jes'  fu'  sass, 
Tu'n  his  nose  up  w'en  he  'd  pass. 
Weasels  's  small  o'  cose,  but  my ! 
Dem  air  animiles  is  sly. 
So  dis  hyeah  one  says,  says  he, 
"  I  '11  jes'  fix  dat  bah,  you  see." 
So  he  fixes  up  his  plan 
An'  hunts  up  de  fa'merman. 
When  de  fa'mer  see  him  come, 
He  'mence  lookin'  mighty  glum, 
An'  he  ketches  up  a  stick; 
But  de  weasel  speak  up  quick: 
"  Hoi'  on,  Mistah  Fa'mer  man, 
I  wan'  'splain  a  little  plan. 
Ef  you  waits,  I  '11  tell  you  whah 
An'  jes'  how  to  ketch  ol'  Bah. 
But  I  tell  yow  now  you  mus' 
Gin  me  one  fat  chicken  fus'." 
Den  de  man  he  scratch  his  haid, 
Las'  he  say,  "  I'll  mek  de  trade." 
So  de  weasel  et  his  hen, 
Smacked     his     mouf     and     says, 

"Well,   den, 

Set  yo'  trap  an'  bait  ternight, 
An'  I  '11  ketch  de  bah  all  right." 


[154] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Den  he  ups  an'  goes  to  see 
Mistah  Bah,  an'  says,  says  he: 
"Well,  fren'  Bah,  we  ain't  been 

fren's, 

But  ternight  ha'd  feelin'  'en's. 
Ef  you  ain't  too  proud  to  steal, 
We  kin  git  a  splendid  meal. 
Cose  I  would  n't  come  to  you, 
But  it  mus'  be  done  by  two; 
Hit 's  a  trap,  but  we  kin  beat 
All  dey  tricks  an'  git  de  meat." 
"  Cose  I  's  wif  you,"  says  de  bah, 
"  Come     on,     weasel,     show     me 

whah." 

Well,   dey  trots  erlong  ontwell 
Dat  air  meat  beginned  tp  smell 
In  de  trap.     Den  weasel  say: 
"  Now  you  put  yo'  paw  dis  way 
While  I  hoi'  de  spring  back  so, 
Den  you  grab  de  meat  an'  go." 
Well,  de  bah  he  had  to  grin 
Ez  he  put  his  big  paw  in, 
Den  he  juked  up,  but  —  kerbing! 
Weasel  done  let  go  de  spring. 
"  Dah  now,"  says  de  weasel,  "  dah, 
I  done  cotched  you,  Mistah  Bah!  " 
O,  dat  bah  did  sno't  and  spout, 
Try'n'  his  bestes'  to  git  out, 
But  de  weasel  say,  "  Goo'-bye! 
Weasel  small,  but  weasel  sly." 
Den  he  tu'ned  his  back  an'  run 
ToP  de  fa'mer  whut  he  done. 
So  de  fa'mer  come  down  dah, 
Wif  a  axe  and  killed  de  bah. 


Dah  now,  ain't  dat  sto'y  fine? 
Run  erlong  now,  nevah  min'. 


Want  some  mo',  you  rascal,  you? 
No,  suh !  no,  suh !  dat  '11  do. 

AT  CANDLE-LIGHTIN' 
TIME 

WHEN  I  come  in  f'om  de  co'n-fiel' 
aftah  wo'kin'  ha'd  all  day, 

It 's  amazin'  nice  to  fin'  my  sup- 
pah  all  erpon  de  way; 

An'  it 's  nice  to  smell  de  coffee 
bubblin'  ovah  in  de  pot, 

An'  it 's  fine  to  see  de  meat  a- 
sizzlin'  teasin'-lak  an'  hot. 

But  when  suppah-time  is  ovah,  an' 

de  t'ings  is  cleahed  away; 
Den  de  happy  hours  dat  roller  are 

de  sweetes'  of  de   day. 
When  my  co'ncob  pipe  is  sta'ted, 

an'     de     smoke     is     drawin' 

prime, 
My  ole  'ooman  says,   "  I   reckon, 

Ike,  it 's  candle-lightin'  time." 

Den  de  chillun  snuggle  up  to  me, 

an'  all  commence  to  call, 
"  Oh,   say,   daddy,   now  it 's  time 

to    mek    de    shadders   on    de 

wall." 
So   I   puts  my  han's   togethah  — 

evah  daddy  knows  de  way, — 
An'  de  chillun  snuggle  closer  roun' 

ez  I  begin  to  say :  — 

"  Fus'  thing,  hyeah  come  Mistah 
Rabbit ;  don'  you  see  him  wo'k 
his  eahs? 


[155] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Huh,  uh !  dis  mus'  be  a  donkey,—     But  of  all  de  whistlin'  da'kies  dat 

look,  how  innercent  he  'pears !  have  lived  an'  died  since  Ham, 

Dah  's  de  ole  black  swan  a-swim-      De  whistlin 'est   I   evah  seed  was 


min'  —  ain't  she  got  a'  awful 
neck? 
Who  's  dis  feller  dat  's  a-comin'  ? 


oF  Ike  Bates's  Sam. 
In  de  kitchen  er  de  stable,  in  de 
fiel'  er  mowin'  hay, 


Why,  dat 's  ole  dog  Tray,  I  You  could  hyeah  dat  boy  a-whis- 
'spec' !  "  tlin'  pu'ty  nigh  a  mile  er- 

way, — 

Dat 's  de  way  I  run  on,  tryin'  fu'  Puck'rin'  up  his  ugly  features 
to  please  'em  all  I  can; 

Den  I  hollahs,  "  Now  be  keerful 


'twell   you   couldn't   see   his 
eyes, 

—  dis  hyeah  las'  's  de  buga-      Den  you  'd  hyeah  a  soun'  lak  dis 

un    f'om    dat    awful    puckah 
rise: 


man!" 
An'  dey  runs  an'  hides  dey  faces; 

dey  ain't  skeered  —  dey  's  let- 

tin'  on: 
But  de  play  ain't  raaly  ovah  twell 

dat  buga-man  is  gone. 

So  I  jes'  teks  up  my  banjo,  an'  I 

plays  a  little  chune, 
An'  you  see  dem  haids  come  peepin' 

out  to  listen  mighty  soon. 
Den  my  wife  says,  "  Sich  a  pappy 

fu'  to  give  you  sich  a  fright! 
Jes,  you  go  to  baid,  an'  leave  him: 

say  yo'  prayers  an'  say  good- 

night." 


WHISTLING  SAM 

I  HAS  hyeahd  o'  people  dancin*  an* 
I 's  hyeahd  o'  people  singin*. 

An'  I 's  been  'roun*  lots  of  othahs 
dat  could  keep  de  banjo 
ringin'  ; 


When  dey  had  revival  meetin'  an* 

de   Lawd's    good    grace    was 

flowin' 
On  de  groun'  dat  needed  wat'rin' 

whaih  de  seeds  of  good  was 

growin', 
While  de  othahs  was  a-singin*  an* 

a-shoutin'  right  an'  lef, 
You  could  hyeah  dat  boy  a-whis- 

tlin'   kin*   o'  sof   beneaf   his 

bref: 


SS 


m 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


At    de    call    fu'    colo'ed    soldiers, 

Sam  enlisted  'mong  de  res' 
Wid  de  blue  o'  Gawd's  great  ahmy 

wropped    about    his    swellin' 

breas', 
An*  he  laffed  an*  whistled  loudah 

in  his  youfful  joy  an'  glee 
Dat  de  govament  would  let  him 

he'p  to  mek  his  people  free. 
Daih  was  lots  o*  ties  to  bin'  him, 

pappy,      mammy,      an'      his 

Dinah, — 
Dinah,  min'  you,  was  his  sweet- 

hea't,    an'    dey   wasn't   nary 

finah; 
But  he  lef  'em  all,  I  tell  you,  lak 

a  king  he  ma'ched  away, 
Try'n'   his  level   bes'   to  whistle, 

happy,  solemn,  choky,  gay: 


To  de  front  he  went  an'  bravely 

fought    de    foe    an'    kep'    his 

sperrit, 
An'  his  comerds  said  his  whistle 

made    'em   strong   when   dey 

could  hyeah  it. 
When  a  saber  er  a  bullet  cut  some 

frien'  o'  his'n  down, 
An'  de  time  Vd  come  to  trench 

him  an*  de  boys  'u'd  gethah 

'roun', 


An'  dey  could  n't  sta't  a  hymn- 
tune,  mebbe  none  o'  dem 
'u'd  keer, 

Sam  'u'd  whistle  "  Sleep  in  Jesus," 
an'  he  knowed  de  Mastah  'd 
hyeah. 

In  de  camp,  all  sad  discouraged, 
he  would  cheer  de  hea'ts  of 
all, 

When  above  de  soun'  of  labour 
dey  could  hyeah  his  whistle 
call: 


3S& 


When  de  cruel  wah  was  ovah  an* 

de  boys  come  ma'chin'  back, 
Dey    was    shouts    an'    cries    an' 

blessin's  all  erlong  dey  happy 

track, 
An'  de  da'kies  all  was  happy;  souls 

an'  bodies  bofe  was  freed. 
Why,  hit  seemed  lak  de  Redeemah 

mus'  'a'  been  on  earf  indeed. 
Dey  was  gethahed  all  one  evenin' 

jes'  befo'  de  cabin  do', 
When      dey      hyeahd      somebody 

whistlin'  kin'  o'  sof  an'  sweet 

an'  low. 
Dey  could  n't  see  de  whistlah,  but 

de     hymn     was     cleah     and 

ca'm, 
An'   dey  all  stood  daih  a-listenin' 

ontwell        Dinah       shouted, 

"Sam!" 


[157] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  dey  seed  a  little  da'ky  way  off 
yandah  thoo  de  trees 

Wid  his  face  all  in  a  puckah  mekin' 
jes'  sich  soun's  ez  dese: 


HOW  LUCY  BACKSLID 

DE  times  is  mighty  stirrin'  'mong 

de  people  up  ouah  way, 
Dey   'sputin'   an'   dey   argyin'   an' 

fussin'  night  an'  day; 
An'  all  dis  monst'ous  trouble  dat 

hit  meks  me  tiahed  to  tell 
Is  'bout  dat  Lucy  Jackson  dat  was 

sich  a  mighty  belle. 

She  was   de  preachah's   favoured, 

an'    he    tol'    de    chu'ch    one 

night 
Dat  she  travelled  thoo  de  cloud  o' 

sin  a-bearin'   of  a  light; 
But,  now,  I  'low  he  t'inkin'  dat  she 

mus'  'a'  los'  huh  lamp, 
Case  Lucy  done  backslided  an'  dey 
'  trouble  in  de  camp. 

Huh  daddy  wants  to  beat  huh,  but 

huh  mammy  daihs  him  to, 
Fu'  she  lookin'  at  de  question  f'om 

a  ooman's  pint  o'  view; 
An'  she  say  dat  now  she  would  n't 

have  it  diff 'ent  ef  she.  could ; 
Dat  huh  darter  only  acted  jes'  lak 

any  othah  would. 


Cose  you  know  w'en  women  argy, 

dey  is  mighty  easy  led 
By  dey  hea'ts  an'  don't  go  foolin' 

'bout  de  reasons  of  de  haid. 
So  huh  mammy  laid  de  law  down 

(she  ain'  reckernizin'  wrong), 
But  you  got  to  mek  erlowance  fu' 

de  cause  dat  go  along. 

Now  de  cause  dat  made  Miss  Lucy 

fu'  to  th'ow  huh  grace  away 
I  's  afeard  won't  baih  no  'spection 

w'en   hit  come  to  jedgement 

day; 
Do'  de  same  t'ing  been  a-wo'kin' 

evah  sence  de  worl'  began, — 
De  ooman   disobeyin'   fu'   to   'tice 

along  a  man. 

Ef  you  'tended  de  revivals  which 

we  held  de  wintah  pas', 
You  kin  rickolec'  dat  convuts  was 

a-comin'  thick  an'  fas'; 
But  dey  ain't  no  use  in  talkin',  dey 

was  all  lef  in  de  lu'ch 
W'en   ol'    Mis'    Jackson's   dartah 

foun'   huh  peace   an'   tuk  de 

chu'ch. 

W'y,  she  shouted  ovah  evah  inch 

of  Ebenezah's  flo'; 
Up  into  de  preachah's  pulpit  an' 

f'om  dah  down  to  de  do'; 
Den  she  hugged  an'  squeezed  huh 

mammy,   an'  she  hugged  an' 

kissed  huh  dad, 
An'  she  struck  out  at  huh  sistah, 

people  said,  lak  she  was  mad. 


58] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


I   has   'tended   some   revivals   dat 

was  lively  in  my  day, 
An'  I  's  seed  folks  git  'uligion  in 

mos'  evah  kin'  o'  way; 
But  I  tell  you,  an*  you  b'lieve  me 

dat  I  's  speakin'  true  indeed, 
Dat  gal  tuk  huh  'ligion  ha'dah  dan 

de  ha'dest  yit  I  's  seed. 

Well,    f'om   dat,    't   was   "  Sistah 

Jackson,  won't  you  please  do 

dis  er  dat?  " 
She    mus'    allus    sta't    de    singin' 

w'en    dey  'd   pass   erroun'    de 

hat, 
An'  hit  seemed  dey  was  n't  nuffin' 

in  dat  chu'ch  dat  could  go  by 
'Dout  sistah  Lucy  Jackson  had  a 

finger  in  de  pie. 

But  de  sayin'  mighty  trufeful  dat 

hit  easiah  to  sail 
W'en  de  sea  is  ca'm  an'  gentle  dan 

to  weathah  out  a  gale. 
Dat 's    whut    made    dis    ooman's 

trouble;  ef  de  sto'm  had  kep' 

away, 
She  'd  'a'  had  enough  'uligion  fu' 

to  lasted  out  huh  day. 

Lucy  went  wid  'Lishy  Davis,  but 

w'en    she    jined    chu'ch,    you 

know 
Dah  was  lots  o'  little  places  dat,  of 

cose,   she  could  n't   go  ; 
An'  she  had  to  gin  up  dancin'  an' 

huh  singin'  an'  huh  play. — 


Now  hit 's  nachul  dat  sich  goin's- 
on  'u'd  drive  a  man  away. 

So,  w'en  Lucy  got  so  solemn,  Ike 

he  sta'ted  fu'  to  go 
Wid  a  gal  who  was  a  sinnah  an' 

could  mek  a  bettah  show. 
Lucy  jes'  went  on  to  meetin'  lak 

she  did  n't  keer  a  rap, 
But  my  'sperunce  kep'  me  t'inkin' 

dah    was    somep'n'    gwine    to 

drap. 

Fu'  a  gal  won't  let  'uligion  er  no 

othah  so't  o'  t'ing 
Stop  huh  w'en  she  teks  a  notion 

dat  she  wants  a  weddin'  ring. 
You  kin  p'omise  huh  de  blessin's 

of  a  happy  aftah  life 
(An'  hit 's  nice  to  be  a  angel) ,  but 

she  'd  ravah  be  a  wife. 

So  w'en  Chrismus  come  an'  mas- 

tah  gin  a  frolic  on  de  lawn, 
Did  n't   'sprise  me  not  de  littlest 

seein'  Lucy  lookin'  on. 
An'  I  seed  a  'wa'nin'  lightnin'  go 

a-flashin'  f'om  huh  eye 
Jest  ez  'Lishy  an'  his  new  gal  went 

a-gallivantin'  by. 

An'  dat  Tildy,  umph!  she  giggled, 

an'  she  gin  huh  dress  a  flirt 
Lak  de  people  she  was  passin'  was 

ez  common  ez  de  dirt; 
An'  de  minit  she  was  dancin',  w'y 

dat  gal  put  on  mo'  aihs 
Dan   a   cat   a-tekin'   kittens   up   a 

paih  o'  windin'  staihs. 

59] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


She    could    'fo'd    to    show    huh 

sma'tness,    fu'    she    could  n't 

he'p  but  know 
Dat  wid  jes'   de  present  dancahs 

she  was  ownah  of  de  flo'; 
But   I    t'ink  she'd   kin'   o'   cooled 

down  ef  she  happened  on  de 

sly 
Fu'   to  noticed  dat  'ere  lightnin' 

dat  I  seed  in  Lucy's  eye. 

An'  she  would  n't  been  so   'ston- 

ished   w'en    de   people   gin   a 

shout, 
An'    Lucy    th'owed    huh    mantle 

back  an'   come  a-glidin'  out. 
Some  ahms  was  dah  to  tek  huh  an' 

she  fluttahed  down  de  flo' 
Lak  a  feddah  f'om  a  bedtick  w'en 

de  win'   commence   to  blow. 

Soon  ez  Tildy  see  de  trouble,  she 

jes'  tu'n  an'  toss  huh  haid, 
But  seem  lak  she  los'  huh  sperrit, 

all  huh  darin'ness  was  daid. 
Did  n't    cut    anothah    capah    nary 

time  de  blessid  night; 
But  de  othah  one,  hit  looked  lak 

could  n't  git  enough  delight. 

W'en  you  keeps  a  colt  a-stan'nin' 

in  de  stable  all  along, 
W'en  he  do  git  out  hit's  nachul 

he  '11  be  pullin'  mighty  strong. 
Ef   you   will   tie   up    yo'    feelin's, 

hyeah  's  de  bes'  advice  to  tek, 
Look  out  fu'  an  awful  loosin'  w'en 

de  string  dat  hoi's  'em  brek. 


Lucy's  mammy  groaned  to  see  huh, 

an'  huh  pappy  sto'med  an'  to', 
But  she  kep'  right  on  a-hol'in'  to 

de  centah  of  de  flo'. 
So  dey  went  an'  ast  de  pastoh  ef  he 

could  n't  mek  huh  quit, 
But  de  tellin'  of  de  sto'y  th'owed 

de  preachah  in  a  fit. 

Tildy  Taylor  chewed  huh  hank'- 

cher  twell  she  'd  chewed  it  in 

a  hole, — 
All  de  sinnahs  was  rejoicin'  'cause 

a  lamb  had  lef  de  fol', 
An'  de  las'  I  seed  o'  Lucy,  she  an' 

'Lish  was  side  an'  side: 
I  don't  blame  de  gal  fu'  dancin', 

an'  I  could  n't  ef  I  tried. 


Fu'   de   men   dat   wants   to   ma'y 

ain't     a-growin'     'roun'     on 

trees, 
An*  de  gal  dat  wants  to  git  one 

sholy  has  to  try  to  please. 
Hit 's  a  ha'd  t'ing  fu'  a  ooman  fu' 

to  pray  an'  jes'  set  down, 
An'  to  sacafke  a  husban'  so  's  to 

try  to  gain  a  crown. 

Now,  I  don'  say  she  was  justified 

in  follerin'  huh  plan; 
But  aldough  she  los'  huh  'ligion, 

yit  she  sholy  got  de  man. 
Latah  on,  w'en  she  is  suttain  dat 

de  preachah  's  made  'em  fas' 
She  kin  jes'  go  back  to  chu'ch  an' 

ax  fu'giveness  fu'  de  pas'! 


[160] 


LYRICS  OF  LOVE  AND  LAUGHTER 


TWO  LITTLE  BOOTS 

Two  little  boots  all  rough  an'  wo', 

Two  little  boots! 
Law,   I  's  kissed  'em  times  befo', 

Dese  little  boots! 
Seems  de  toes  a-peepin'  thoo 
Dis  hyeah  hole  an'  sayin'  "  Boo !  " 
Evah  time  dey  looks  at  you  — 

Dese  little  boots. 

Membah  de  time  he  put  'em  on, 

Dese  little  boots; 
Riz  an'  called  fu'  'em  by  dawn, 

Dese  little  boots; 
Den  he  tromped  de  livelong  day, 
Laffin'  in  his  happy  way, 
Evaht'ing  he  had  to  say, 

"My  little  boots!" 

Kickin'  de  san'  de  whole  day  long, 

Dem  little  boots; 
Good  de  cobblah  made  'em  strong, 

Dem  little  boots! 
Rocks  was  fu'  dat  baby's  use, 
Ton  had  to  stan'  abuse 
Wen  you  tu'ned  dese  champeens 
loose, 

Dese  little  boots! 

Ust  to  make  de  ol'  cat  cry, 

Dese  little  boots; 
Den  you  walked  it  mighty  high, 

Proud  little  boots! 
Ahms  akimbo,  stan'in'  wide, 


Eyes  a-sayin'  "Dis  is  pride!" 
Den  de  manny-baby  stride! 
You  little  boots. 

Somehow,  you  don'  seem  so  gay, 

Po'  little  boots, 
Sence  yo*  ownah  went  erway, 

Po'  little  boots! 

Yo'  bright  tops  don'  look  so  red, 
Dese  brass  tips  is  dull  an'  dead; 
"  Goo'-by,"  whut  de  baby  said ; 

Deah  little  boots! 

Ain't  you  kin'  o'  sad  yo'se'f, 

You  little  boots? 
Dis  is  all  his  mammy  's  lef ' , 

Two  little  boots. 
Sence  huh  baby  gone  an'  died. 
Heav'n  itse'f  hit  seem  to  hide 
Des  a  little  bit  inside 

Two  little  boots. 


TO  THE  ROAD 

COOL  is  the  wind,  for  the  summer 

is  waning, 

Who  's  for  the  road  ? 
Sun-flecked    and    soft,    where   the 

dead  leaves  are   raining, 
Who  's  for  the  road  ? 
Knapsack     and     alpenstock     press 

hand  and  shoulder, 
Prick  of  the  brier  and  roll  of  the 

boulder ; 

63] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


This  be  your  lot  till   the  season  Wen    de    sunshine 's    shoutin' 

grow  older;  glory  in  de  sky, 

Who  's  for  the  road  ?  An*  de  little  Johnny- Jump-Ups  's 

jes'     a-springin'     f'om     de 

Up  and  away  in  the  hush  of  the  groun', 

morning,  Den  a-lookin'  roun'  to  ax  each 
Who  's  for  the  road  ?  othah  w'y. 
Vagabond   he,   all   conventions   a-  Don'    you    hyeah    dem    cows    a- 
scorning,  mooin'  ?     Dat  's  dey  howdy 
Who  's  for  the  road  ?  to  de  spring ; 
Music  of  warblers  so  merrily  sing-  Ain'    dey   lookin'   most   oncom- 
ing, mon  satisfied? 

Draughts  from  the  rill  from  the  Hit 's  enough  to  mek  a  body  want 

roadside  up-springing,  to    spread    dey    mouf    an' 


Nectar  of  grapes  from  the  vines 

lowly  swinging, 
These  on  the  road. 


sing 

Jes'    to   see    de    critters    all   so 
spa'klin'-eyed. 


Now   every  house  is  a  hut  or  a 

hovel,  W'y  dat  squir'l  dat  jes'  run  past 

Come  to  the  road :  us,    ef    I    did  n'    know    his 

Mankind  and  moles  in  the  dark  tricks, 

love  to  grovel,  I  could  swaih  he  'd  got  'uligion 

But  to  the  road.  jes'  to-day; 

Throw  off  the  loads  that  are  bend-      An'  dem  liza'ds  slippin'  back  an' 

ing  you  double;  fofe  ermong  de  stones  an' 

Love    is    for   life,   only   labor   is 

trouble ; 
Truce  to  the  town,  whose  best  gift 

is  a  bubble: 


Come  to  the  road! 

A  SPRING  WOOING 

COME  on  walkin'  wid  me,  Lucy; 
't  ain't  no  time  to  mope 
erroun' 


sticks 
Is  a-wigglin'  'cause  dey  feel  so 

awful  gay. 
Oh,  I  see  yo'  eyes  a-shinin'  dough 

you  try  to  mek  me  b'lieve 
Dat  you  ain'  so  monst'ous  happy 

'cause  you  come; 
But  I  tell  you  dis  hyeah  weathah 
meks   it   moughty   ha'd   to 
'ceive 

Ef  a  body's  soul  ain'  blin'  an* 
deef  an'  dumb. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Robin  whistlin'  ovah  yandah  ez  he 

buiF  his  little  nes' ; 
Whut  you  reckon  dat  he  sayin' 

to  his  mate? 
He  's  a-sayin'  dat  he  love  huh  in  de 

wo'ds  she  know  de  bes', 
An'  she  lookin'  moughty  pleased 

at  whut  he  state. 
Now,   Miss   Lucy,    dat   ah    robin 
sholy  got  his  sheer  o'  sense, 
An'      de     hen-bird      got      huh 

mothah-wit  fu'  true; 
So  I  t'ink  ef  you  '11  ixcuse  me,  fu' 

I  do'  mean  no  erfence, 
Dey  's  a  lesson  in  dem  birds  fu' 
me  an'  you. 

I  's  a-buil'in'  o'  my  cabin,  an'  I  's 

vines  erbove  de  do' 
Fu'  to  kin'  o'  gin  it  sheltah  f'om 

de  sun; 
Gwine  to  have  a  little  kitchen  wid 

a  reg'lar  wooden  flo', 
An'   dey  '11  be  a  back  verandy 

w'en  hit 's  done. 
I 's  a-waitin'  fu'  you,  Lucy,  tek  de- 

'zample  o'   de   birds, 
Dat 's  a-lovin'  an'  a-matin'  evah- 

whaih. 
I  cain'  tell  you  dat  I  loves  you  in 

de  robin's  music  wo'ds, 
But  my  cabin  's  talkin'   fu'  me 
ovah  thaih! 

JOGGIN'  ERLONG 


DE  da'kest  hour,  dey  allus  say, 
Is  des'  befo'  de  dawn, 


But  it 's  moughty  ha'd  a-waitin' 
Were    de    night    goes    frownin' 

on; 

An'  it 's  moughty  ha'd  a-hopinr 
W'en  de  clouds  is  big  an'  black, 
An'  all  de  t'ings  you  's  waited  fu' 
Has  failed,  er  gone  to  wrack  — 
But  des'  keep  on  a-joggin'  wid  a 

little  bit  o'  song, 
De  mo'n  is  allus  brightah  w'en  de 

night 's  been  long. 

Dey  's  lots  o'  knocks  you  's  got  to 

tek 

Befo'  yo'  journey  's  done, 
An'   dey 's   times  w'en  you  '11   be 

wishin' 

Dat  de  weary  race  was  run; 
W'en  you  want  to  give  up  tryin' 
An'  des'  float  erpon  de  wave, 
W'en  you  don't  feel  no  mo'  sorrer 
Ez  you  t'ink  erbout  de  grave  — 
Den,  des'  keep  on  a-joggin'  wid  a 

little  bit  o'  song, 
De  mo'n  is  allus  brightah  w'en  de 

night 's  been  long. 

De   whup-lash   sting  a  good   deal 

mo' 

De  back  hit 's  knowed  befo', 
An'  de  burden  's  allus  heavies' 
Whaih    hits    weight   has    made   a 

so'; 

Dey  is  times  w'en  tribulation 
Seems  to  git  de  uppah  han' 
An'  to  whip  de  weary  trav'lah 
'Twell    he    ain't    got    stren'th    to 

stan' — 


[165] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But  des'  keep  on  a-joggin'  wid  a 

little  bit  o'  song, 
De  mo'n  is  allus  brightah  w'en  de 

night 's  been  long. 


IN  MAY 


The   fame  that   for   a  moment 

gleams, 
Then  flies  forever, —  dreams,  ah 

—  dreams ! 


O  burning  doubt  and  long  regret, 
O  tears  with  which  our  eyes  are 

wet, 
Heart-throbs,     heart-aches,     the 

glut  of  pain, 

The    somber  cloud,     the    bitter 
rain, 


OH  to  have  you  in  May, 

To    talk    with   you    under   the 

trees, 
Dreaming  throughout  the  day, 

Drinking   the  wine-like  breeze,      You  were  not  of  those  dreams  — 

ah!  well, 

Your  full  fruition  who  can  tell? 
Wealth,    fame,    and    love,    ah! 
love  that  beams 


Oh  it  were  sweet  to  think 

That  May  should  be  ours  again, 

Hoping  it  not,  I  shrink, 
Out  of  the  sight  of  men. 


Upon  our  souls,   all  dreams  — 
ah!   dreams. 


May  brings  the  flowers  to  bloom, 
It  brings  the  green  leaves  to  the 

tree,  THE  TRYST 

And  the  fatally  sweet  perfume, 

Of  what  you  once  were  to  me.      DE   m'ght   creeP    down   erlonS  de 

Ian', 

De  shadders  rise  an*  shake, 

DREAMS  De  frog  is  sta'tin'  up  his  ban', 

De  cricket  is  awake; 

WHAT  dreams  we  have  and  how  My  wo'k  is  mos'  nigh  done,  Celes', 

they  fly  To-night  I  won't  be  late, 

Like  rosy  clouds  across  the  sky;  I  >s  hu'yin'  thoo  my  level  bes', 

Of  wealth,  of  fame,  of  sure  sue-  Wait  fu'  me  by  de  gate. 

cess, 

Of    love    that   comes    to    cheer  De  mockin'-bird  '11  sen'  his  glee 

and  bless;  A-thrillin'  thoo  and  thoo, 

And  how  they  wither,  how  they  I  know  dat  ol'  magnolia-tree 

fade,  Is  smellin'  des'  fu'  you; 

The    waning   wealth,    the    jilting  De  jessamine  erside  de  road 

jade —  Is  bloomin'  rich  an'  white, 

[166] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


My    hea't  's   a-th'obbin'    'cause   it 

knowed 
You  'd  wait  fu'  me  to-night. 

Hit 's   lonesome,   ain't   it,   stan'in' 

thaih 

Wid  no  one  nigh  to  talk? 
'But  ain't  dey  whispahs  in  de  aih 

Erlong  de  gyahden  walk? 
Don't    somep'n    kin'    o'    call    my 

name, 

An'  say  "  he  love  you  bes'  "? 
Hit 's    true,    1^  wants    to    say    de 

same, 
So  wait  fu'  me,  Celes'. 

Sing  somep'n  fu'  to  pass  de  time, 

Outsing  de  mockin'-bird, 
You  got  de  music  an'  de  rhyme, 

You  beat  him  wid  de  word. 
I  's  comin'  now,  my  wo'k  is  done, 

De  hour  has  come  fu'  res', 
I  wants  to  fly,  but  only  run  — 

Wait  fu'  me,  deah  Celes'. 


A  PLEA 


TREAT 


me    nice,     Miss    Mandy 
Jane, 

Treat  me  nice. 
Dough    my    love    has    tu'ned    my 

brain, 

Treat  me  nice. 

I  ain't  done  a  t'ing  to  shame, 
Lovahs  all  ac's  jes'  de  same: 
Don't  you  know  we  ain't  to  blame  ? 
Treat  me  nice! 


Cose  I  know  I  's  talkin'  wild ; 

Treat  me  nice; 
I  cain't  talk  no  bettah,  child, 

Treat  me  nice; 
Whut  a  pusson  gwine  to  do, 
Wen  he  come  a-cou'tin'  you 
All  a-trimblin'  thoo  and  thoo? 

Please  be  nice. 

Reckon  I  mus'  go  de  paf 

Othahs  do: 
Lovahs  lingah,  ladies  laff; 

Mebbe  you 

Do'  mean  all  the  things  you  say, 
An'  pu'haps  some  latah  day 
Wen  I  baig  you  ha'd,  you  may 

Treat  me  nice! 


THE  DOVE 

OUT  of  the  sunshine  and  out  of 

the  heat, 
Out    of    the    dust    of    the    grimy 

street, 
A  song  fluttered  down  in  the  form 

of  a  dove, 
And  it  bore  me  a  message,  the  one 

word  —  Love ! 

Ah,  I  was  toiling,  and  oh,  I  was 

sad: 

I  had  forgotten  the  way  to  be  glad. 
Now,  smiles  for  my  sadness  and 

for  my  toil,  rest 
Since  the  dove  fluttered  down  to 

its  home  in  my  breast! 


[167] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


A  WARM  DAY  IN  WINTER 

"  SUNSHINE  on  de  medders, 

Greenness  on  de  way; 
Dat  's  de  blessed  reason 

I  sing  all  de  day." 
Look  hyeah!     Whut  you  axin'? 

Whut  meks  me  so  merry? 
'Spect  to  see  me  sighin' 

W'en  hit 's  wa'm  in  Febawary  ? 

'Long  de  stake  an'  rider 

Seen  a  robin  set; 
W'y,  hit  'mence   a-thawin', 

Groun'   is   monst'ous  wet. 
Den  you  Stan'  dah  wond'rin', 

Lookin'  skeert  an'  stary; 
I  's  a  right  to  caper 

W'en  hit 's  wa'm  in  Febawary. 

Missis  gone  a-drivin', 

Mastah  gone  to  shoot; 
Ev'ry  da'ky  lazin' 

In  de  sun  to  boot. 
Qua'tah  's  moughty  pleasant, 

Hangin'  'roun'  my  Mary; 
Cou'tin'   boun'   to  prospah 

W'en  hit 's  wa'm  in  Febawary. 

Cidah  look  so  pu'ty 

Po'in'.  f '  om  de  jug  — 
Don'  you  see  it 's  happy  ? 

Hyeah  it  laffin'— glug? 
Now  's  de  time  fu'  people 

Fu'  to  try  an'  bury 
All  dey  grief  an'  sorrer, 

W'en  hit 's  wa'm  in  Febawary. 


SNOWIN' 

DEY   is   snow  upon    de   meddahs, 

dey  is  snow  upon  de  hill, 
An'    de   little   branch's   watahs   is 

all  glistenin'  an'  still; 
De  win'  goes  roun'  de  cabin  lak  a 

sperrit  wan'erin'  'roun'. 
An'  de  chillen  shakes  an'  shivahs 

as  dey  listen  to  de  soun'. 
Dey    is    hick'ry    in    de    flahplace, 

whah  de  blaze  is  risin'  high, 
But  de  heat  it  meks  ain't  wa'min' 

up  de  gray  clouds  in  de  sky. 
Now  an'  den  I  des  peep  outside, 

den  I  hurries  to  de  do', 
Lawd  a  mussy  on  my  body,  how  I 

wish  it  would  n't  snow ! 

I  kin  stan'  de  hottes'  summah,  I 

kin  stan'  de  wettes'  fall, 
I  kin  stan'  de  chilly  springtime  in 

de     ploughland,     but     dat  's 

all; 
Fu'  de  ve'y  hottes'  fiah  nevah  tells 

my  skin  a  t'ing, 
W'en  de  snow  commence  a-flyin', 

an'  de  win'  begin  to  sing. 
Dey  is  plenty  wood  erroun'  us,  an' 

I  chop  an'  tote  it  in, 
But  de  t'oughts  dat  I 's  a  t'inkin' 

while  I  's  wo'kin'  is  a  sin. 
I  kin  keep  f'om  downright  swahin' 

all  de  time  I  's  on  de  go, 
But  my  hea't  is  full  o'  cuss-wo'ds 

w'en    I  's    trampin'    thoo    de 

snow. 


[168] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


What  you  say,  you  Lishy  Davis, 

dat  you  see  a  possum's  tracks? 
Look    hyeah,    boy,    you    stop    yo' 

foolin',    bring    ol'    Spot,    an* 

bring  de  ax. 
Is  I  col'  ?     Go  way,  now,  Mandy, 

what  you  t'ink  I 's  made  of  ? 

—  sho, 
W'y  dis  win'  is  des  ez  gentle,  an' 

dis  ain't  no  kin'  o'  snow. 
Dis  hyeah  weathah  's  des  ez  healthy 

ez  de  wa'mest  summah  days. 
All  you  chillen  step  up  lively,  pile 

on  wood  an'  keep  a  blaze. 
What 's   de   use    o'    gittin'    skeery 

case     dey  's    snow    upon     de 

groun'  ? 
Huh-uh,  I 's  a  reg'lar  snowbird  ef 

dey 's  any  possum   'roun'. 

Go  on,   Spot,  don'  be  so  foolish; 

don'  you  see  de  signs  o'  feet. 
What  you  howlin'  f  u  ?     Keep  still, 

suh,    cose    de    col'    is    putty 

sweet ; 
But  we  goin'  out  on  bus'ness,  an' 

hit 's  bus'ness  o'  de  kin' 
Dat  mus'  put  a  dog  an'  dahky  in 

a  happy  frame  o'  min'. 
Yes,  you  's  col' ;  I  know  it,  Spotty, 

but  you  des  stay  close  to  me, 
An'   I  '11  mek  you  hot  ez  cotton 

w'en  we  strikes  de  happy  tree. 
No,   I   don'   lak  wintah  weathah, 

an'    I  'd    wush    't    uz    allus 

June, 
Ef  it  was  n't  fu'  de  trackin'  o'  de 

possum  an'  de  coon. 

[I 


KEEP  A  SONG  UP  ON  DE 
WAY 

OH,  de  clouds  is  mighty  heavy 
An'  de  rain  is  mighty  thick; 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
An'  de  waters  is  a  rumblin' 
On   de  boulders  in  de  crick, 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
Fu'  a  bird  ercross  de  road 
Is  a-singin'  lak  he  knowed 
Dat  we  people  did  n't  daih 
Fu'  to  try  de  rainy  aih 

Wid  a  song  up  on  de  way. 

What 's  de  use  o'  gittin'  mopy, 
Case  de  weather  ain'  de  bes'! 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
W'en  de  rain  is  fallin'  ha'des', 
Dey  's  de  longes'  times  to  res' 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
Dough  de  plough  's  a-stan'in'  still 
Dey  '11  be  watah  fu'  de  mill, 
Rain  mus'  come  ez  well  ez  sun 
'Fo'  de  weathah's  wo'k  is  done, 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 

W'y  hit 's  nice  to  hyeah  de  showahs 
Fallin'  down  ermong  de  trees: 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
Ef  de  birds  don'  bothah  'bout  it, 
But  go  singin'  lak  dey  please, 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 
You  don'  s'pose  I 's  gwine  to  see 
Dem  ah  fowls  do  mo'  dan  me? 
No,  suh,  I  '11  des  chase  dis  frown, 
An'  aldough  de  rain  fall  down, 

Keep  a  song  up  on  de  way. 


69] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


THE    TURNING    OF    THE 
BABIES  IN  THE  BED 

WOMAN  's  sho'  a  cur'ous  critter, 

an'  dey  ain't  no  doubtin'  dat. 
She  's  a  mess  o'  funny  capahs  f  om 

huh  slippahs  to  huh  hat. 
Ef  you  tries  to  un'erstan'  huh,  an* 

you  fails,  des'  up  an'  say: 
"D'  ain't  a  bit  o'  use  to  try  to 

un'erstan'    a   woman's   way." 

I  don'  mean  to  be  complainin',  but 

I 's  jes'  a-settin'  down 
Some    o'    my    own    obserwations, 

w'en  I  cas'  my  eye  eroun'. 
Ef  you  ax  me  fu'  to  prove  it,  I 

ken  do  it  mighty  fine, 
Fu'   dey  ain't  no  bettah   'zample 

den  dis  ve'y  wife  o'  mine. 

In  de  ve'y  hea't  o'  midnight,  w'en 
I  's  sleepin'  good  an'  soun', 

I  kin  hyeah  a  so't  o'  rustlin'  an' 
somebody  movin'  'roun'. 

An'  I  say,  "  Lize,  whut  you  do- 
in'  ?  "  But  she  frown  an'  shek 
huh  haid, 

"  Heish  yo'  mouf,  I  's  only  tu'nin' 
of  de  chillun  in  de  bed. 

"  Don'  you  know  a  chile  gits  rest- 
less, layin'  all  de  night  one 
way? 

An'  you'  got  to  kind  o'  'range  him 
sev'al  times  befo'  de  day? 

So  de  little  necks  won't  worry,  an' 
de  little  backs  won't  break ; 


Don'  you  t'ink  case  chillun  's  chil- 
lun dey  hain't  got  no  pain  an' 
ache." 

So  she  shakes  'em,  an'  she  twists 

'em,  an'  she  tu'ns  'em  'roun' 

erbout, 
'Twell  I  don'  see  how  de  chillun 

evah  keeps  f'om  hollahin'  out. 
Den  she  lif's  'em  up  head  down- 

'ards,  so  's  dey  won't  git  livah- 

grown, 
But  dey  snoozes  des'   ez  peaceful 

ez  a  liza'd  on  a  stone. 

W'en    hit 's   mos'    nigh    time    fu' 

wakin'  on  de  dawn  o'  jedg- 

ment  day, 
Seems  lak  I  kin  hyeah  ol'  Gab'iel 

lay  his  trumpet  down  an'  say, 
"  Who  dat  walkin'  'roun'  so  easy, 

down     on    earf    ermong    de 

dead?"— 
'T  will  be  Lizy  up  a-tu'nin'  of  de 

chillun  in  de  bed. 


THE  DANCE 

HEEL  and  toe,  heel  and  toe, 
That  is  the  song  we  sing; 
Turn  to  your  partner  and  curtsey 

low, 

Balance  and  forward  and  swing. 
Corners  are  draughty  and  meadows 

are  white, 

This  is  the  game   for  a   winter's 
night. 


[170] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Hands  around,  hands  around, 
Trip  it,  and  not  too  slow; 
Clear  is  the  fiddle  and  sweet  its 

sound, 

Keep  the  girls'  cheeks  aglow. 
Still  let  your  movements  be  dainty 

and  light, 

This  is  the  game   for  a  winter's 
night. 

Back  to  back,  back  to  back, 

Turn  to  your  place  again; 
Never   let    lightness   nor   nimble- 
ness  lack, 

Either  in  maidens  or  men. 
Time  hasteth  ever,  beware  of  its 

flight, 

Oh,  what  a  game  for  a  winter's 
night ! 

Slower  now,  slower  now, 
Softer  the  music  sighs; 

Look,    there    are    beads    on    your 

partner's  brow 

Though   there  be  light   in  her 
eyes. 

Lead  her  away  and  her  grace  re- 
quite, 

So  goes  the  game  on   a  winter's 
night. 


SOLILOQUY  OF  A  TURKEY 

DEY  's  a  so't  o'  threatenin'  feelin' 

in  de  blowin'  of  de  breeze, 
An'  I 's  feelin'  kin'  o'  squeamish 
in  de  night; 


I 's   a-walkin'    'roun'   a-lookin'   at 

de  diffunt  style  o'  trees, 
An'    a-measurin'    dey    thickness 

an'  dey  height. 
Fu'  dey  's  somep'n  mighty  'spicious 

in  de  looks  de  da'kies  give, 
Ez  dey  pass  me  an'  my  fambly 

on  de  groun,' 
So  it  'curs  to  me  dat  lakly,  ef  I 

caihs  to  try  an'  live, 
It  concehns  me  fu'  to  'mence  to 
look  erroun'. 

Dey 's    a    cu'ious    kin'    o'    shivah 

runnin'  up  an'  down  my  back, 

An'   I   feel  my  feddahs  rufflin' 

all  de  day, 
An'  my  laigs  commence  to  trimble 

evah  blessid  step  I  mek; 
Wen  I  sees  a  ax,  I  tu'ns  my 

head   away. 

Folks  is  go'gin'   me  wid   goodies, 

an'  dey  's  treatin'  me  wid  caih, 

An'  I  's  fat  in  spite  of  all  dat  I 

kin  do. 
I  's  mistrus'ful  of  de  kin'ness  dat 's 

erroun'  me  evahwhaih, 
Fu'  it 's  jes*  too  good,  an'  fre- 
quent, to  be  true. 

Snow  's  a-fallin'  on  de  medders,  all 

erroun'  me  now  is  white, 
But  I 's  still  kep'  on  a-roostin' 

on  de  fence; 
Isham  comes  an'  feels  my  breas'- 

bone,  an*   he  hefted   me  las' 

night, 


[171] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  he  's  gone  erroun'  a-grinnin' 

evah  sence. 
'T  ain't    de    snow    dat    meks    me 

shivah ;    't  ain't    de    col'    dat 

meks  me  shake; 
'T  ain't     de    wintah-time    itse'f 

dat 's  'fectin'  me ; 
But    I    t'ink   de   time    is   comin', 

an'  I  'd  bettah  mek  a  break, 
Fu'  to  set  wid  Mistah  Possum 

in  his  tree. 

Wen  you  hyeah  de  da'kies  singin', 

an'  de  quahtahs  all  is  gay, 
'T  ain't  de  time  fu'  birds  lak  me 

to  be  'erroun'; 
Wen  de  hick'ry  chips  is  flyin',  anj 

de  log  's  been  ca'ied  erway, 
Den  hit 's  dang'ous  to  be  roostin' 
nigh  he  groun'. 

Grin  on,  Isham!  Sing  on,  da'k- 
ies! But  I  flop  my  wings  an* 

go 

Fu'  de  sheltah  of  de  ve'y  high- 
est tree, 

Fu'  dey  's  too  much  close  ertention 
—  an'  dey's  too  much  fallin' 
snow  — 

An'    it 's    too    nigh    Chris'mus 
mo'nin'  now  fu'  me. 

FISHING 

WEN  I  git  up  in  de  mo'nin'  an* 
de  clouds  is  big  an'  black, 

Dey  's  a  kin'  o'  wa'nin'  shivah  goes 
a-scootin'  down  my  back; 

[17 


Den  I  says  to  my  ol'  ooman  ez  I 
watches  down  de  lane, 

"  Don't  you  so't  o'  reckon,  Lizy, 
dat  we  gwine  to  have  some 
rain?" 

lt  Go  on,  man,"  my  Lizy  answah, 

"you  cain't  fool   me,   not   a 

bit, 
I  don't  see  no  rain  a-comin',  ef 

you  's  wishin'  f u'  it,  quit ; 
Case  de  mo'  you  t'ink  erbout  it,  an 

de  mo'  you  pray  an'  wish, 
Wy  de  rain  stay  'way  de  longah, 

spechul  ef  you  wants  to  fish." 

But  I  see  huh  pat  de  skillet,  an'  I 

see  huh  cas'  huh  eye 
Wid  a  kin'  o'  anxious  motion  to'ds 

de  da'kness  in  de  sky; 
An'  I  knows  whut  she  's  a-t'inkin', 

dough    she   tries   so   ha'd    to 

hide. 
She  's  a-sayin',  "  Would  n't  catfish 

now    tas'e    monst'ous    bully, 

fried?" 

Den  de  clouds  git  black  an'  black- 

ah,  an'  de  thundah  'mence  to 

roll, 
An'    de   rain,    it    'mence   a-fallin'. 

Oh,     I 's    happy,     bless    my 

soul! 
Ez  I  look  at  dat  ol'  skillet,  an'  I 

'magine  I  kin  see 
Jes'  a  slew  o'  new-ketched  catfish 

sizzlin'  daih  fu'  huh  an'  me. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


'T  ain't  no  use  to  go  a-ploughin', 
fu'  de  groun'  '11  be  too 
wet, 

So  I  puts  out  fu'  de  big  house  at 
a  moughty  pace,  you  bet, 

An'  oP  mastah  say,  "  Well,  Lishy, 
ef  you  t'ink  hit 's  gwine  to 
rain, 

Go  on  fishin',  hit's  de  weathah, 
an'  I  'low  we  cain't  com- 
plain." 

Talk  erbout  a  dahky  walkin'  wid 

his  haid  up  in  de  aih ! 
Have  to  feel  mine  evah  minute  to 

be  sho'  I  got  it  daih; 
En'  de  win'  is  cuttin'  capahs  an' 

a-lashin'  thoo  de  trees, 
But    de    rain    keeps   on    a-singin' 

blessed  songs,  lak  "  Tek  yo' 

ease." 

Wid  my  pole  erpon  my  shouldah 

an'    my    wo'm    can    in    my 

ban', 
I  kin  feel  de  fish  a-waitin'  w'en  I 

strikes  de  rivah's  san'; 
Nevah  min',  you  ho'ny  scoun'els, 

need  n'     swim     erroun'     an' 

gn'n, 
I  '11  be  grinnin'  in  a  minute  w'en  I 

'mence  to  haul  you  in. 

W'en  de  fish  begin  to  nibble,  an' 
de  co'k  begin  to  jump, 

I 's  erfeahed  dat  dey  '11  quit  bitin', 
case  dey  hyeah  my  hea't  go 
"  thump," 


'Twell  de  co'k  go  way  down 
undah,  an'  I  raise  a  awful 
shout, 

Ez  a  big  ol'  yallah  belly  comes  a 
gallivantin'  out. 

Need  n't  wriggle,  Mistah  Catfish, 

case  I  got  you  jes'  de  same, 
You  been  eatin',  I  '11  be  eatin',  an' 

we  needah  ain't  to  blame. 
But  you  need  n't  feel  so  lonesome 

fu'  I  's  th'owin'  out  to  see 
Ef  dey  ain't  some  of  yo'  comrades 

fu'  to  keep  you  company. 

Spo't,  dis  fishin'!  now  you  talkin', 

w'y  dey  ain't  no  kin'  to  beat; 
I  don'  keer  ef  I  is  soakin',  laigs, 

an'  back,  an'  naik,  an'  feet, 
It 's  de  spo't  I 's  lookin'  aftah. 

Hit 's  de  pleasure  an*  de  fun, 
Dough  I  knows  dat  Lizy  's  waitin' 

wid  de  skillet  w'en  I 's  done. 


A  PLANTATION 
PORTRAIT 

HAIN'T  you  see  my  Mandy  Lou, 

Is  it  true? 
Whaih  you  been  f'om  day  to  day, 

Whaih,  I  say? 
Dat  you  say  you  nevah  seen 

Dis  hyeah  queen 
Walkin'  roun'  f'om  fieP  to  street 

Smilin'  sweet? 


Slendah  ez  a  saplin'  tree; 
Seems  to  me 


[173] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Wen  de  win'  blow  f  om  de  bay 

She  jes'  sway 
Lak  de  reg'lar  saplin'  do 

Ef  hit  Js  grew 
Straight  an'  graceful,  'dout  a  limb, 

Sweet  an'  slim. 

Browner  den  de  f  rush's  wing, 

An'  she  sing 
Lak  he  mek  his  wa'ble  ring 

In  de  spring; 
But  she  sholy  beat  de  frush, 

Hyeah  me,  hush: 
Wen  she  sing,  huh  teef  kin  show 

White  ez  snow. 

Eyes  ez  big  an'  roun'  an'  bright 

Ez  de  light 
Whut  de  moon  gives  in  de  prime 

Harvest  time. 
An'  huh  haih  a  woolly  skein, 

Black  an'  plain. 
Hoi's  you  wid  a  natchul  twis' 

Close  to  bliss. 

Tendah   han's   dat  mek  yo'   own 

Feel  lak  stone; 
Easy  steppin',  blessid  feet, 

Small  an'  sweet. 
Hain't  you  seen  my  Mandy  Lou, 

Is  it  true? 
Look  at  huh  befo'  she  's  gone, 

Den  pass  on! 

A  LITTLE  CHRISTMAS 
BASKET 


De  snow  's  a-sayin'  "  Got  you  "  to 

de  groun', 
Fu'    de    wintah    weathah  's    come 

widout    a-askin'    ouah    de- 

siah, 
An'  he  's  laughin'  in  his  sleeve 

at  wh.ut  he  foun'; 
Fu'   dey   ain't   nobody   ready  wid 

dey  fuel  er  dey  food, 
An'   de  money  bag  look  timid 

lak,  fu'  sho', 
So     we     want     ouah     Chrismus 

sermon,  but  we  'd  lak  it  ef 

you  could 
Leave  a  little  Chrismus  basket 

at  de  do'. 

Wha  's    de    use    o'    tellin'    chillen 

'bout   a   Santy  er   a   Nick, 

An'  de  sto'ies  dat  a  body  allus 

tol'? 

When  de  harf  is  gray  wid  ashes 

an'  you  has  n't  got  a  stick 

Fu'    to    warm    dem    when    dey 

little  toes  is  col'? 
Wha  's  de  use  o'  preachin'  'ligion 
to  a  man  dat 's  sta'ved  to 
def, 
An'    a-tellin'    him    de    Mastah 

will  pu'vide? 

Ef  you  want  to  tech  his  feelin's, 
save  yo'  sermons  an'  yo' 
bref, 

Tek  a  little  Chrismus  basket  by 
yo'  side. 


DE  win'  is  hollahin'  "  Daih  you  " 
to  de  shuttahs  an'  de  fiah, 


'T  ain't  de  time  to  open  Bibles  an' 
to  lock  yo'  cellah  do', 


[174] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


'T  ain't  de  time  to  talk  o'  bein' 

good  to  men; 

Ef  you  want  to  preach  a  sermon 
ez     you     nevah     preached 
befo', 
Preach  dat  sermon  wid  a  shoat 

er  wid  er  hen; 
Bein'  good  is  heap  sight  bettah  den 

a-dallyin'  wid  sin, 
An'  dey  ain't  nobody  roun*  dat 

knows  it  mo', 
But  I   t'ink  dat   'ligion  's  sweeter 

w'en  it  kind  o'  mixes  in 
Wid  a  little  Chrismus  basket  at 
de  do'. 


THE  VALSE 

WHEN   to  sweet   music  my  lady 

is  dancing 
My   heart   to   mild   frenzy   her 

beauty  inspires. 
Into  my  face  are  her  brown  eyes 

a-glancing, 

And    swift    my    whole    frame 
thrills  with  tremulous  fires. 
Dance,   lady,   dance,   for  the   mo- 
ments are  fleeting, 
Pause  not  to  place  yon  refractory 

curl  ; 
Life  is  for  love  and  the  night  is 

for  sweeting; 

Dreamily,    joyously,    circle    and 
whirl. 


Oh,  how  those  viols  are  throbbing 
and  pleading; 


A   prayer   is   scarce    needed    in 

sound  of  their  strain. 
Surely   and   lightly  as  round   you 

are  speeding, 
You  turn  to  confusion  my  heart 

and  my  brain. 
Dance,   lady,   dance   to   the  viol's 

soft  calling, 
Skip  it  and  trip  it  as  light  as  the 

air; 
Dance,  for  the  moments  like  rose 

leaves  are  falling, 
Strikes,  now,  the  clock  from  its 
place  on  the  stair. 

Now  sinks  the  melody  lower  and 

lower, 
The     weary     musicians     scarce 

seeming  to  play. 
Ah,    love,    your    steps    now    are 

slower   and   slower, 
The  smile  on  your  face  is  more 

sad  and  less  gay. 
Dance,  lady,  dance  to  the  brink  of 

our  parting, 
My  heart  and  your  step  must  not 

fail  to  be  light. 
Dance!    Just    a    turn  —  tho'    the 

tear-drop  be  starting. 

Ah  —  now    it    is    done  —  so  — 

my  lady,  good-night! 

REPONSE 

WHEN  Phyllis  sighs  and  from  her 
eyes 

The  light  dies  out;  my  soul  re- 
plies 


[175] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


With  misery  of  deep-drawn  breath,      Down   in  my  oP   cabin  wa'm   ez 


E'en    as    it    were    at    war    with 
death. 

When    Phyllis  smiles,   her  glance 

beguiles 

My  heart  through  love-lit  wood- 
land aisles, 
And  through  the  silence  high  and 

clear, 
A  wooing  warbler's  song  I  hear. 


mammy  s  toas  , 
'Taters  in   de  fiah  layin'   daih  to 

roas' ; 
No  one  daih  to  cross  me,  got  no 

talkin'  pal, 
But    I  's   got   de   comp'ny   o'    my 

sweet  brown  gal. 


So  I  spen's  my  evenin'  listenin'  to 

huh  sing, 
Lak    a    blessid    angel;    how    huh 

voice  do  ring! 
Sweetah  den  a  bluebird   flutterin' 

erroun', 
W'en   he   sees   de   steamin'   o'    de 

new  ploughed  groun'. 


But  if  she  frown,   despair  comes 

down, 

I  put  me  on  my  sack-cloth  gown; 
So  frown  not,  Phyllis,  lest  I  die, 
But  look  on  me  with  smile  or 

sigh. 

Den  I  hugs  huh  closah,  closah  to 

my  breas'. 
Need  n't  sing,  my  da'lin',  tek  you' 

hones'  res'. 
WEN  de  clouds  is  hangin'  heavy      Does   j   mean    Malindy>    Mandy) 

in  de  skv'  Lize  er  Sal? 

An'  de  win's  's  a-taihm'  moughty  my   fiddle_dat>s 


MY  SWEET  BROWN   GAL 


vig'rous  by, 
I  don'  go  a-sighin'  all  erlong  de 

way; 
I  des'  wo'k  a-waitin'  fu'  de  close 

o'  day. 

Case  I  knows  w'en  evenin'  draps 

huh  shadders  down, 
I   won'    care    a   smidgeon    fu'    de 

weathah's   frown; 
Let   de    rain   go   splashin',   let   de 

thundah  raih, 
Dey  's   a   happy   sheltah,    an'    I  Js 

goin'  daih. 

[176] 


my 


gal  , 


SPRING  FEVER 

GRASS  commence  a-comin' 

Thoo  de  thawin'  groun', 
Evah  bird  dat  whistles 

Keepin'    noise   erroun' ; 
Cain't  sleep  in  de  mo'nin', 

Case  befo'  it 's  light 
Bluebird  an'  de  robin, 

Done  begun  to  fight. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Bluebird  sass  de  robin, 

Robin  sass  him  back, 
Den   de  bluebird   scol'   him 

'Twell  his  face  is  black. 
Would  n'  min'  de  quoilin' 

All  de  mo'nin'  long, 
'Cept  it  wakes  me  early, 

Case  hit 's  done  in  song. 

Anybody  wo'kin' 

Wants  to  sleep  ez  late 
Ez  de  folks  '11   'low   him, 

An'  I  wish  to  state 
(Co'se  dis  ain't  to  scattah, 

But  'twix'  me  an'  you), 
I  could  stan*  de  bedclothes, 

Kin'  o'  latah,  too. 

'T  ain't  my  natchul  feelin', 

Dis  hyeah  mopin'  spell. 
I  stan's  early  risin' 

Mos'ly  moughty  well; 
But  de  ve'y  minute, 

I  feel  Ap'il's  heat, 
Bless  yo'  soul,  de  bedclothes 

Nevah  seemed  so  sweet. 

Mastah,  he  's  a-scol'in', 

Case  de  han's  is  slow, 
All  de  hosses  balkin', 

Jes'  cain't  mek  'em  go. 
Don'  know  whut  's  de  mattah, 

Hit 's  a  funny  t'ing, 
Less'n  hit 's  de  fevah 

Dat  you  gits  in  spring. 


THE  VISITOR 

LITTLE  lady  at  de  do', 

W'y  you  stan'  dey  knockin'? 
Nevah  seen  you  ac'  befo' 
In  er  way  so  shockin'. 

Don'  you  know  de  sin  it  is 
Fu'  to  git  my  temper  riz 
Wen  I 's  got  de  rheumatiz 
An'  my  jints  is  lockin'  ? 

No,  ol'  Miss  ain't  sont  you  down, 

Don'  you  tell  no  story; 
I  been  seed  you  hangin'  'roun' 
Dis  hyeah  te'itory. 
You  des  come  fu'  me  to  tell 
You    a    tale,    an'    I    am' — 

well  — 
Look  hyeah,   what  is   dat   I 

smell? 
Steamin'  victuals?     Glory! 

Come  in,  Missy,  how  you  do? 

Come  up  by  de  fiah, 
I  was  jokin',  chile,  wid  you; 
Bring  dat  basket  nighah. 

Huh    uh,    ain't    dat    lak    oP 

Miss, 

Sen'in'  me  a  feas'  lak  dis? 
Rheumatiz    cain't    stop     my 

bliss, 
Case  I 's  feelin'  spryah. 

Chicken  meat  an'  gravv,  too, 


gravy, 

Hot  an'  still  a-heatin'; 
Good  ol'  sweet  pertater  stew; 
Missy  b'lieves  in  treatin'. 
Des   set    down,   you   blessed 
chile, 

[177] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Daddy  got  to  t'ink  a  while, 
Den  a  story  mek  you  smile 
Wen  he  git  thoo  eatin'. 


Stir   yo'    stumps    an*    cleah    de 

way, 

Fu'  de  music  dat  dey  mekin'  can't 
be  beat. 


SONG 

WINTAH,      summah,      snow      er 
shine, 

Hit 's  all  de  same  to  me, 
Ef  only  I  kin  call  you  mine, 

An'  keep  you  by  my  knee. 

Ha'dship,  frolic,  grief  er  caih, 
Content  by  night  an'  day, 

Ef  only  I  kin  see  you  whaih 
You  wait  beside  de  way. 

Livin',  dyin',  smiles  er  teahs, 
My  soul  will  still  be  free, 

Ef  only  thoo  de  comin'  yeahs 
You  walk  de  worl'  wid  me. 

Bird-song,    breeze-wail,    chune   er 
moan, 

What  puny  t'ings  dey  '11  be, 
Ef  w'en  I 's  seemin'  all  erlone, 

I  knows  yo'  hea't  's  wid  me. 


THE  COLORED  BAND 

WEN  de  colo'ed  ban'  comes 
ma'chin'  down  de  street, 

Don't  you  people  stan'  daih 
starin';  lif  yo'  feet! 


Oh,   de   major   man 's   a-swingin' 

of  his  stick, 
An'     de     pickaninnies     crowdin' 

roun'  him  thick; 
In  his  go'geous  uniform, 
He  's  de  lightnin'  of  de  sto'm, 
An'  de  little  clouds  erroun'  look 
mighty  slick. 

You  kin  hyeah  a  fine  perfo'mance 
w'en  de  white  ban's  sere- 
nade, 

An'    dey    play    dey    high-toned 
music  mighty  sweet, 

But  hit 's  Sousa  played  in  rag- 
time, an'  hit 's  Rastus  on 
Parade, 

Wen    de    colo'ed    ban'    comes 
ma'chin'  down  de  street. 

W'en  de  colo'ed  ban'  comes  ma'ch- 
in' down  de  street 

You  kin  hyeah  de  ladies  all  erroun' 

repeat : 
"  Ain't   dey   handsome  ?     Ain't 

dey  gran'? 

Ain't  dey  splendid?     Goodness, 
Ian'! 

Wy  dey's  pu'fect  f'om  dey  fo'- 
heads  to  dey  feet !  " 


Ain't   dey   playin'?     Hip,    hoo-     An'  sich  steppin'  to  de  music  down 
ray!  de  line, 

[178] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

'T  ain't  de  music  by  itself  dat  meks  Or  does  some  brighter  spirit,  un- 
it fine,  forlorn, 

Hit 's  de  walking  step  by  step,  Send  you,  my  little  sister  of  the 

An'  de  keepin'  time  wid  "  Hep,"  wood, 

Dat  it  mek  a  common  ditty  soun'  To  say  to  some  one  on  a  cloudful 

divine.  morn, 

"  Life  lives  through  death,  my 

Oh,  de  white  ban'  play  hits  music,  brother,  all  is  good  ?  " 
an'   hit 's   mighty   good   to 

hyeah,  With  meditative  hearts  the  others 

An'  it  sometimes  leaves  a  ticklin'  go 

in  yo'  feet;  The  memory  of   their  dead   to 

But  de  hea't  goes  into  bus'ness  fu'  dress  anew. 

to  he'p  erlong  de  eah,  But,  sister  mine,  bide  here  that  I 

Wen  de  colo'ed  ban'  goes  ma'ch-  may  know, 

in'  down  de  street.  Life   grows,   through   death,   as 

beautiful  as  you. 


TO  A  VIOLET  FOUND  ON 

ALL  SAINTS'  DAY  INSPIRATION 

BELATED  wanderer  of  the  ways  of  AT  the  golden  gate  of  song 

spring,  Stood  I,  knocking  all  day  long, 

Lost  in  the  chill  of  grim  No-  But  the  Angel,  calm  and  cold, 

vember  rain,  Still  refused  and  bade  me,  "  Hold." 

Would  I  could  read  the  message 

that  you  bring  Then  a  breath  of  soft  perfume, 

And  find  in  it  the  antidote  for  Then  a  Hght  wfthln  the  Sloom; 

pain.  Thou,  Love,  earnest  to  my  side, 

And  the  gates  flew  open  wide. 
Does  some  sad  spirit  out  beyond 

the  day,  Long  I  dwelt  in  this  domain, 

Far  looking  to  the  hours  forever  Knew  no  sorrow,   grief,  or  pain ; 

dead,  Now  you  bid  me  forth  and  free, 

Send  you  a  tender  offering  to  lay  Will  you  shut  these  gates  on  me? 
Upon  the  grave  of  us,  the  liv- 
ing dead? 

[179] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


MY  LADY  OF  CASTLE 
GRAND 


The   bird   to   his   mate   in   the 

tree, 
And  ever  she  sighs  as  she  hears 

their  song, 
"  Nobody  sings  for  me." 


GRAY    is    the    palace    where    she 

dwells, 
Grimly  the  poplars  stand 

There  by  the  window  where  she      *-p,  n  *j     i 

•  The   scullery  maids   have   swains 

sits, 

My  Lady  of  Castle  Grand.  WhoTa'd  them  the  way  of  love, 

There  does  she  bide  the  livelong      But  lonelv  and  loveless  thelr  mls~ 

day, 

Grim  as  the  poplars  are, 
Ever  her  gaze  goes  reaching  out, 


tress  sits 
At  her  window  up  above. 


Steady,  but  vague  and  far. 


Loveless  and  lonely  she  waits  and 

waits, 

The  saddest  in  all  the  land; 
Ah,  cruel  and  lasting  is  love-blind 

pride, 
My  Lady  of  Castle  Grand. 


Bright  burn  the  fires  in  the  castle 

hall, 

Brightly  the  fire-dogs  stand; 
But  cold  is  the  body  and  cold  the 

heart 
Of  my  Lady  of  Castle  Grand. 

DRIZZLE 

Blue  are  the  veins  in  her  lily-white 

hands,  HIT  's    been    drizzlin'    an'    been 

Blue  are  the  veins  in  her  brow;  sprinklin', 

Thin  is  the  line  of  her  blue  drawn  Kin'  o'  techy  all  day  long, 

lips,  I  ain't  wet  enough  fu'  toddy, 

Who  would  be  haughty  now  ?  I 's  too  damp  to  raise  a  song/ 

An'  de  case  have  set  me  t'inkin', 

Pale  is  the   face  at  the  window-  Dat  dey  's  folk  des  lak  de  rain, 

pane, 

Pale  as  the  pearl  on  her  breast, 
"  Roderick,  love,  wilt  come  again  ? 


Fares  he  to  east  or  west  ?  " 


Dat    goes    drizzlin'    w'en    dey 's 

talkin', 

An'    won't   speak    out    flat   an' 
plain. 


The  shepherd   pipes   to   the  shep-      Ain't  you  nevah  set  an'  listened 
herdess,  At  a  body  'splain  his  min'? 

[i  so] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Wen    de    t'oughts    dey    keep    on 

drappin' 

Wasn't  big  enough  to  fin'? 
Dem 's     whut     I     call     drizzlin' 

people, 

Othahs  call  'em  mealy  mouf, 
But  de  fust  name  hits  me  bettah, 
Case  dey  nevah  tech  a  drouf. 

Dey  kin  talk  from  hyeah  to  yandah, 

An'  f'om  yandah  hyeah  ergain, 
An'  dey  don'  mek  no  mo'  'pression, 

Den  dis  powd'ry  kin'  o'  rain. 
En  yo'  min'  is  dry  ez  cindahs, 

Er  a  piece  o'  kindlin'  wood, 
'T  ain't  no  use  a-talkin'  to  'em, 

Fu'  dey  drizzle  ain't  no  good. 

Gimme  folks  dat  speak  out  nachul, 

Whut  '11  say  des  whut  dey  mean, 
Whut    don't    set    dey    wo'ds    so 
skimpy 

Dat  you  got  to  guess  between. 
I  want  talk  des'  lak  de  showahs 

Whut  kin  wash  de  dust  erway, 
Not  dat  sprinklin'  convusation, 

Dat  des  drizzle  all  de  day. 

DE  CRITTERS'  DANCE 

AIN'T  nobody  nevah  tol'  you  not  a 

wo'd  a-tall, 
'Bout  de  time  dat  all  de  critters 

gin  dey  fancy  ball? 
Some  folks  tell  it  in  a  sto'y,  some 

folks  sing  de  rhyme, 
Teahs  to  me  you  ought  to  hyeahed 

it,  case  hit 's  oP  ez  time. 


Well,  de  critters  all  was  p'osp'ous, 

now  would  be  de  chance 
Fu'  to  tease  oP  Pa'son  Hedgehog, 

givin'  of  a  dance; 
Case,     you     know,     de     critters' 

preachah  was  de  stric'est  kin', 
An'  he  nevah  made  no  'lowance  fu' 

de  frisky  min'. 

So  dey  sont  dey  inbitations,  Rac- 
coon writ  'em  all, 
"  Dis  hyeah  note  is  to  inbite  you 

to  de  Fancy  Ball; 
Come  erlong  an'  bring  yo'  ladies, 

bring  yo'  chillun  too, 
Put  on   all  yo'   bibs  an'   tuckahs, 

show  whut  you  kin  do." 

W'en  de  night  come,  dey  all 
gathahed  in  a  place  dey 
knowed, 

Fu'  enough  erway  f'om  people, 
nigh  enough  de  road, 

All  de  critters  had  ersponded,  Hop- 
Toad  up  to  Baih, 

An'  I 's  hyeah  to  tell  you,  Pa'son 
Hedgehog  too,  was  daih. 

Well,    dey   talked   an'   made    dey 

'bejunce,     des     lak     critters 

do, 
An'   dey   walked   an'   p'omenaded 

'roun'  an'  thoo  an'  thoo; 
Jealous  oP  Mis'  Fox,  she  whispah, 

"  See  Mis'  Wildcat  daih, 
Ain't  hit  scan'lous,  huh   a-comin' 

wid  huh  shouldahs  baih  ?  " 


[181] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


OF  man  T'utle  was  n't  honin'  fu' 
no  dancin'  tricks, 

So  he  stayed  by  ol'  Mis'  Tu'tle, 
talkin'  politics; 

Den  de  ban*  hit  'mence  a-playin' 
critters  all  to  place, 

Fou'  ercross  an'  fou'  stan'  side- 
ways, smilin'  face  to  face. 

'Fessah   Frog,   he  play  de  co'net, 

Cricket  play  de  fife, 
Slews    o'    Grasshoppahs   a-fiddlin' 

lak  to  save  dey  life; 
Mistah  Crow,  'he  call  de  figgers, 

settin'  in  a  tree, 
Huh,  uh!  how  dose  critters   sas- 

shayed  was  a  sight  to  see. 

Mistah  Possom  swing  Mis'  Rab- 
bit up  an'  down  de  flo', 

OF  man  Baih,  he  ain't  so  nimble, 
an'  it  mek  him  blow ; 

Raccoon  dancin'  wid  Mis'  Squ'il 
squeeze  huh  little  han', 

She  say,  "  Oh,  now  ain't  you  aw- 
ful, quit  it,  goodness  Ian' !  " 

Pa'son  Hedgehog  grbanin'  awful  at 

his  converts'  shines, 
'Dough  he  peepin'  thoo  his  fingahs 

at  dem  movin'  lines, 
'Twell  he  cain't  set  still  no  longah 

w'en  de  fiddles  sing, 
Up  he  jump,  an'  bless  you,  honey, 

cut  de  pigeon-wing. 

Well,  de  critters  lak  to  fainted  jes' 
wid  dey  su'prise, 


Sistah  Fox,  she  vowed  she  was  n't 
gwine  to  b'lieve  huh  eyes; 

But  dey  could  n't  be  no  'sputin' 
'bout  it  any  mo': 

Pa'son  Hedgehog  was  a-cape'in'  all 
erroun'  de  flo.' 

Den  dey  all  jes'  capahed  scan'lous 
case  dey  did  n't  doubt, 

Dat  dey  still  could  go  to  meetin'; 
who  could  tu'n  'em  out? 

So  wid  dancin'  an'  uligion,  dey 
was  in  de  fol', 

Fu'  a-dancin'  wid  de  Pa'son  could- 
n't hu't  de  soul. 


WHEN  DEY  'LISTED  COL- 
ORED  SOLDIERS 

DEY  was  talkin'  in  de  cabin,  dey 

was  talkin'  in  de  hall; 
But  I  listened  kin'  o'  keerless,  not 

a-t'inkin'  'bout  it  all; 
An'  on  Sunday,  too,  I  noticed,  dey 

was  whisp'rin'  mighty  much, 
Stan'in'    all    erroun'    de    roadside 

w'en     dey     let     us     out     o' 

chu'ch. 
But  I  did  n't  t'ink  erbout  it  'twell 

de  middle  of  de  week, 
An'  my  'Lias  come  to  see  me,  an' 

somehow  he  could  n't  speak. 
Den  I  seed  all  in  a  minute  whut 

he  'd      come      to      see      me 

for ; — 
Dey  had  'listed  colo'ed  sojers  an* 

my  'Lias  gwine  to  wah. 

82] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Oh,   I   hugged   him,  an'   I   kissed 

him,  an'  I  baiged  him  not  to 

go; 
But  he  tol'  me  dat  his  conscience, 

hit  was  callin'  to  him  so, 
An'   he   could  n't   baih   to   lingah 

w'en    he    had    a    chanst    to 

fight 
For  de  freedom  dey  had  gin  him 

an'  de  glory  of  de  right. 
So  he  kissed  me,  an'  he  lef '  me, 

w'en  I  'd  p'omised  to  be  true  ; 
An'  dey  put  a  knapsack  on  him, 

an'  a  coat  all  colo'ed  blue. 
So  I  gin  him  pap's  oP  Bible  f'om 

de  bottom  of  de  draw', — 
W'en  dey  'listed  colo'ed  sojers  an' 

my  'Lias  went  to  wah. 

But  I  t'ought  of  all  de  weary  miles 

dat  he  would  have  to  tramp, 
An'  I  could  n't  be  contented  w'en 

dey  tuk  him  to  de  camp. 
W'y    my    hea't    nigh    broke    wid 

grievin'  'twell  I  seed  him  on 

de  street; 
Den  I  felt  lak  I  could  go  an'  th'ow 

my  body  at  his  feet. 
For  his  buttons  was  a-shinin',  an* 

his  face  was  shinin',  too, 
An'  he  looked  so  strong  an'  mighty 

in  his  coat  o'  sojer  blue, 
Dat  I  hollahed,  "  Step  up,  man- 

ny,"  dough  my  th'oat  was  so' 

an'  raw, — 
W'en  dey  'listed  colo'ed  sojers  an* 

my  'Lias  went  to  wah. 


OP   Mis'  cried  w'en  mastah  lef 

huh,  young  Miss  mou'ned  huh 

brothah  Ned, 
An'  I  did  n't  know  dey  feelin's  is 

de  ve'y  wo'ds  dey  said 
W'en  I  tol'  'em  I  was  so'y.     Dey 

had  done  gin  up  dey  all; 
But  dey  only  seemed  mo'  proudah 

dat  dey  men  had  hyeahed  de 

call. 
Bofe   my   mastahs   went    in    gray 

suits,  an'  I  loved  de  Yankee 

blue, 
But  I  t'ought  dat  I  could  sorrer 

for  de  losin'  of  'em  too; 
But  I  could  n't,  for  I  did  n't  know 

de  ha'f  o'  whut  I  saw, 
'Twell  dey  'listed  colo'ed  sojers  an* 

my  'Lias  went  to  wah. 

Mastah  Jack  come  home  all  sickly ; 

he   was   broke   for   life,    dey 

said  ; 
An'  dey  lef  my  po'  young  mastah 

some'r's    on    de    roadside, — 

dead. 
W'en  de  women  cried  an'  mou'ned 

'em,  I  could  feel  it  thoo  an* 

thoo, 
For  I  had  a  loved  un  fightin'  in  de 

way  o'  dangah,  too. 
Den  dey  tol'  me  dey  had  laid  him 

some'r's   way    down   souf   to 

res', 
Wid   de   flag  dat  he  had   fit  for 

shinin'       daih       acrost       his 

breas'. 


[183] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Well,  I  cried,  but  den  I  reckon 
dat  's  whut  Gawd  had  called 
him  for, 

W'en  dey  'listed  colo'ed  sojers  an* 
my  'Lias  went  to  wah. 


LINCOLN 

HURT    was    the    nation    with    a 

mighty  wound, 
And  all  her  ways  were  filled  with 

clam'rous  sound. 

Wailed  loud  the  South  with  unre- 
mitting grief, 
And  wept  the  North  that  could 

not  find  relief. 
Then  madness  joined  its  harshest 

tone  to  strife: 
A  minor  note  swelled  in  the  song 

of  life. 
'Till,  stirring  with  the  love  that 

filled  his  breast, 
But  still,  unflinching  at  the  right's 

behest, 
Grave      Lincoln      came,      strong 

handed,  from  afar, 
The  mighty  Homer  of  the  lyre  of 

war. 
'Twas  he  who  bade   the   raging 

tempest  cease, 

Wrenched  from  his  harp  the  har- 
mony of  peace, 
Muted  the  strings,  that  made  the 

discord, —  Wrong, 
And  gave  his  spirit  up  in  thun- 

d'rous  song. 


Oh  mighty  Master  of  the  mighty 

lyre, 
Earth  heard  and  trembled  at  thy 

strains  of  fire : 
Earth  learned  of  thee  what  Heav'n 

already  knew, 
And  wrote  thee  down  among  her 

treasured  few. 


ENCOURAGEMENT 

WHO  dat  knockin'  at  de  do'? 
Why,  Ike  Johnson, — .  yes,  f u'  sho ! 
Come  in,  Ike.    I 's  mighty  glad 
You  come  down.    I  t'ought  you  's 

mad 

At  me  'bout  de  othah  night, 
An'  was  stayin'  'way  fu'  spite. 
Say,  now,  was  you  mad  fu'  true 
W'en  I  kin'  o'  laughed  at  you? 
Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f. 

'T  ain't  no  use  a-lookin'  sad, 
An'  a-mekin'  out  you  's  mad  ; 
Ef  you  's  gwine  to  be  so  glum, 
Wondah  why  you  evah  come. 
I  don't  lak  nobidy  'roun' 
Dat     jes'     shet     dey     mouf     an' 

frown, — 

Oh,  now,  man,  don't  act  a  dunce! 

Cain't  you  talk?    I  toF  you  once, 

Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f. 

Wha  'd   you   come   hyeah   fu'   to- 
night ? 

Body'd  t'ink  yo'  haid  ain't  right. 
I 's  done  all  dat  I  kin  do, — 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Dressed  perticler,  jes'  fu'  you; 
Reckon  I  'd  'a'  bettah  wo' 
My  ol'   ragged   calico. 
Aftah  all  de  pains  I 's  took, 
Cain't  you  tell  me  how  I  look? 
Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f. 

Bless  my  soul!  I  'mos'  fu'got 
Tellin'  you  'bout  Tildy  Scott. 
Don't  you  know,  come  Thu'sday 

night, 

She  gwine  ma'y  Lucius  White? 
Miss  Lize  say  I  allus  wuh 
Heap  sight  laklier  'n  huh; 
An'  she  '11  git  me  somep'n  new, 
Ef  I  wants  to  ma'y  too. 

Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f. 

I  could  ma'y  in  a  week, 
Ef  de  man  I  wants  'ud  speak. 
Tildy's  presents  '11  be  fine, 
But  dey  would  n't  ekal  mine. 
Him  whut  gits  me  fu'  a  wife 
'LI  be  proud,  you  bet  yo'  life. 
I  's  had  offers;  some  ain't  quit; 
But  I  hasn't  ma'ied  yit! 

Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f. 

Ike,  I  loves  you, —  yes,  I  does; 
You  's  my  choice,  and  allus  was. 
Laffin'  at  you  ain't  no  harm. — 
Go  'way,  dahky,  whah  's  yo'  arm  ? 
Hug     me     closer  —  dah,     dat  's 

right ! 

Was  n't  you  a  awful  sight, 
Havin'  me  to  baig  you  so? 
Now  ax  whut  you  want  to 

know, — 
Speak  up,  Ike,  an'  'spress  yo'se'f ! 


So's 


THE  BOOGAH   MAN 

WEN  de  evenin'  shadders 

Come  a-glidin'  down, 
Fallin'  black  an'  heavy 

Ovah  hill  an'  town, 
Ef  you  listen  keerful, 

Keerful  ez  you  kin, 
you  boun'  to  notice 

Des  a  drappin'  pin; 
Den  you  '11  hyeah  a  funny 

Soun'  ercross  de  Ian'; 
Lay  low ;  dat 's  de  callin' 

Of  de  Boogah  Man! 

Woo-oo,  woo-oo! 

Hyeah  him  ez  he  go  erlong  de 

way; 
Woo-oo,  woo-oo! 

Don'  you  wish  de  night  'ud  tun 

to  day? 

Woo-oo,  woo-oo! 
Hide  yo'  little  peepers  'hind  yo' 

han  ; 
Woo-oo,  woo-oo! 

Callin    of  de  Boogah  Man. 

W'en  de  win  's  a-shiverin* 

Thoo  de  gloomy  lane, 
An'  dey  comes  de  patterin* 

Of  de  evenin'  rain, 
W'en  de  owl 's  a-hootin', 

Out  daih  in  de  wood, 
Don'  you  wish,  my  honey, 

Dat  you  had  been  good? 
'T  ain't  no  use  to  try  to 

Snuggle  up  to  Dan; 
Bless  you,  dat 's  de  callin' 

Of  de  Boogah  Man! 


[185] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Ef  you  loves  yo'  mammy, 

An'  you  min's  yo'  pap, 
Ef  you  nevah  wriggles 

Outen   Sukey's  lap; 
Ef  you  says  yo'  "  Lay  me " 

Evah  single  night 
'Fo'  dey  tucks  de  kivers 

An'  puts  out  de  light, 
Den  de  rain  kin  pattah 

Win'  blow  lak  a  fan, 
But  you  need  n'  bothah 

'Bout  de  Boogah  Man! 


THE  WRAITH 

AH  me,  it  is  cold  and  chill 

And   the   fire  sobs   low   in   the 

grate, 
While  the  wind  rides  by  on  the 

hill, 

And  the  logs  crack  sharp  with 
hate. 

And  she,  she  is  cold  and  sad 

As  ever  the  sinful  are, 
But  deep  in  my  heart  I  am  glad 

For  my  wound  and  the  coming 
scar. 

Oh,  ever  the  wind  rides  by 

And  ever  the  raindrops  grieve; 

But  a  voice  like  a  woman's  sigh 
Says,    "  Do    you    believe,    be- 
lieve?" 

Ah,  you  were  warm  and  sweet, 
Sweet  as  the  May  days  be; 


Down  did  I  fall  at  your  feet, 
Why  did  you  hearken  to  me? 

Oh,  the  logs  they  crack  and  whine, 
And  the  water  drops  from  the 
eaves; 

But  it  is  not  rain  but  brine 
Where  my  dead  darling  grieves. 

And  a  wraith  sits  by  my  side, 
A  spectre  grim  and  dark; 

Are  you  gazing  here  open-eyed 
Out  to   the  lifeless   dark? 

But  ever  the  wind  rides  on, 
And  we  sit  close  within; 

Out  of  the  face  of  the  dawn, 
I  and  my  darling, —  sin. 


SILENCE 

'Tis  better  to  sit  here  beside  the 

sea, 

Here  on  the  spray-kissed  beach, 
In    silence,     that    between     such 

friends  as  we 
Is  full  of  deepest  speech. 


WHIP-POOR-WILL  AND 
KATY-DID 

SLOW  de  night 's  a-fallin', 
An'  I  hyeah  de  callin, 

Out  erpon  de  lonesome  hill; 
Soun'   is  moughty  dreary, 
Solemn-lak  an'  skeery, 

Sayin'  fu'  to  "  whip  po'  Will." 
86] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Now  hit  Js  moughty  tryin', 
Fu'  to  hyeah  dis  cryin', 

'Deed  hit 's  mo'  den  I  kin  stan' ; 
Sho'  wid  all  our  slippin', 
Dey  's  enough  of  whippin' 

'Dout  a  bird  a'visin'  any  man. 

In  de  noons  o'  summah 
Dey  's  anothah  hummah 

Sings   anothah   song   instid; 
An'  his  th'oat  's  a-swellin' 
Wid  de  joy  o'  tellin', 

But   he   says   dat   "  Katy   did." 

Now  I  feels  onsuhtain; 
Won't  you  raise  de  cu'tain 

Ovah  all  de  ti'ngs  dat 's  hid  ? 
W'y   dat    feathahed    p'isen 
Goes  erbout  a-visin' 

Whippin'      Will      w'en      Katy 
did? 


'LONG  TO'DS  NIGHT 

DAIH  's     a     moughty     soothin' 

feelin' 
Hits  a  dahky  man, 

'Long  to'ds  night. 
W'en  de  row  is  mos'  nigh  ended, 
Den  he  stops  to  fan, 
'Long  to'ds  night. 
De    blue    smoke    f'om    his    cabin 
is     a-callin'     to     him 
"Come;" 

He  smell  de  bacon  cookin',  an'  he 
hyeah  de  fiah  hum; 


An'    he    'mence    to    sing,    'dough 
wo'kin'      putty      nigh 
done  made  him  dumb, 
'Long  to'ds  night. 

Wid  his  hoe  erpon  his  shouldah 
Den  he  goes  erlong, 
'Long  to'ds  night. 
An'  he  keepin'  time  a-steppin' 
Wid  a  little  song, 

'Long   to'ds   night. 
De  restin'-time  's  a-comin',  an'  de 
time  to  drink  an'  eat; 
A  baby's  toddlin'  to'ds  him  on  hits 

little  dusty  feet, 

An'    a-goin'    to'ds    his    cabin,    an' 
his  suppah  's  moughty 
sweet, 
'Long  to'ds  night. 

Daih  his  Ca'line  min'  de  kettle, 
Rufus  min'  de  chile, 
'Long  to'ds  night; 
An'    de    sweat    roll    down    his 

forred, 
Mixin'  wid  his  smile, 

'Long  to'ds  night. 
He  toss  his  piccaninny,  an'  he  hum 

a  little  chune; 

De  wokin'  all  is  ovah,  an'  de  sup- 
pah  comin'  soon; 

De  wo'kin'  time  's  Decembah,  but 
de      restin'      time      is 
June, 
'Long  to'ds  night. 

Dey  's  a  kin'  o'  doleful  feelin', 
Hits  a  tendah  place, 
'Long  to'ds  night; 


8?] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Dey  's  a  moughty  glory  in  him 
Shinin'  thoo  his  face, 

Long  to'ds  night. 
De  cabin  's  lak  de  big  house,  an' 

de  fiah's  lak  de  sun; 
His  wife  look  moughty  lakly,  an' 
de    chile    de    puttiest 
one; 

W'y,    hit's    blessid,    jes'    a-livin' 
w'en  a  body's  wo'k  is 
done. 
'Long  to'ds  night. 

A  GRIEVANCE 

WEN  de  snow  's  a-fallin' 

An'  de  win'  is  col'. 
Mammy  'mence  a-callin', 

Den  she  'mence  to  scol', 
"  Lucius  Lishy  Brackett, 

Don't  you  go  out  do's, 
Button  up  yo'  jacket, 

Les'n  you  '11  git  froze." 

I  sit  at  de  windah 

Lookin'  at  de  groun', 
Nuffin  nigh  to  hindah, 

Mammy  ain'  erroun'; 
Wish  't  she  would  n'  mek  me 

Set  down  in  dis  chaih; 
Pshaw,  it  would  n't  tek  me 

Long  to  git  some  aih. 

So  I  jump  down  nimble 

Ez  a  boy  kin  be, 
Dough  I  's  all  a-trimble 

Feahed   some  one  '11  see ; 
Bet  in  a  half  a  minute 

I  fly  out  de  do' 


An'  I  's  knee-deep  in  it, 
Dat  dah  blessed  snow. 

Den  I  hyeah  a  pattah 

Come  acrost  de  flo'. 
Den  dey  comes  a  clattah 

At  de  cabin  do'; 
An'  my  mammy  holler 

Spoilin'  all  my  joy, 
"  Come  in  f 'om  dat  waller, 

Don't  I  see  you,  boy?" 

W'en  de  snow  's  a-sievin' 

Down  ez  sof  ez  meal, 
Whut  's  de  use  o'  livin' 

'Cept  you  got  de  feel 
Of  de  stuff  dat 's  fallin' 

'Roun'  an'  white  an'  damp, 
'Dout  some  one  a-callin', 

"  Come  in  hyeah,  you  scamp ! 


DINAH  KNEADING 
DOUGH 

I  HAVE  seen  full  many  a  sight 
Born  of  day  or  drawn  by  night: 
Sunlight  on  a  silver  stream, 
Golden  lilies  all  a-dream, 
Lofty  mountains,  bold  and  proud, 
Veiled  beneath  the  lacelike  cloud; 
But  no  lovely  sight  I  know 
Equals  Dinah  kneading  dough. 


Brown  arms  buried  elbow-deep 
Their   domestic    rhythm    keep, 
As  with  steady  sweep  they  go 
Through      the      gently      yielding 

dough. 
[188] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Maids     may     vaunt     their     finer 

charms — 

Naught  to  me  like  Dinah's  arms; 
Girls    may    draw,    or    paint,    or 

sew  — 
I  love  Dinah  kneading  dough. 

Eyes  of  jet  and  teeth  of  pearl, 
Hair,  some  say,  too  tight  a-curl; 
But  the  dainty  maid   I   deem 
Very  near  perfection's  dream. 
Swift  she  works,  and  only  flings 
Me  a  glance  —  the  least  of  things. 
And  I  wonder,  does  she  know 
That  my  heart  is  in  the  dough? 


TO  A  CAPTIOUS  CRITIC 

DEAR  critic,  who  my  lightness  so 

deplores, 
Would  I  might  study  to  be  prince 

of  bores, 
Right   wisely   would    I    rule   that 

dull  estate  — 
But,    sir,    I    may    not,    till    you 

abdicate. 


DAT   OL'    MARE   O'   MINE 

WANT  to  trade  me,  do  you,  mis- 
tah?  Oh,  well,  now,  I 
reckon  not, 

W'y  you  could  n't  buy  my  Sukey 

fu'  a  thousan'  on  de  spot. 
Dat  ol'  mare  o'  mine? 


Yes,  huh  coat  ah  long  an'  shaggy, 

an'  she  ain't  no  shakes  to 

see; 
Dat 's  a  ring-bone,  yes,  you  right, 

suh,    an'   she   got   a  on'ry 

knee, 
But  dey  ain't  no   use  in   talkin', 

she  de  only  hoss  fuj  me, 
Dat  ol'  mare  o'  mine. 

Co'se,   I   knows  dat   Suke  's   con- 

tra'y,  an'  she  moughty  ap' 

to  vex; 
But  you  got  to  mek  erlowance  fu' 

de  nature  of  huh  sex; 
Dat  ol'  mare  o'  mine. 
Ef  you  pull  her  on  de  lef  han'; 

she  plum  'termined  to  go 

right, 
A  cannon  could  n't  skeer  huh,  but 

she  boun'  to  tek  a  fright 
At  a  piece  o'  common  paper,   or 

anyt'ing  whut's  white, 
Dat  ol'  mare  o'  mine. 

W'en   my  eyes  commence  to   fail 

me,    dough,    I    trus'es    to 

huh  sight, 
An'  she  '11  tote  me  safe  an5  hones' 

on    de   ve'y    da'kes'    night, 
Dat  ol'  mare  o'  mine. 
Ef   I  whup   huh,   she  jes'   switch 

huh    tail,    an'    settle    to    a 

walk, 
Ef  I  whup  huh  mo',  she  shek  huh 

haid,   an'   lak   ez   not,   she 

balk. 
89] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


But    huh    sense    ain't    no    ways 
lackin',   she   do   evah   t'ing 
but  talk, 
Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 

But  she  gentle  ez  a  lady  w'en  she 

know  huh  beau  kin  see. 
An    she  sholy  got  mo'  gumption 

any  day  den  you  or  me, 
Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 
She  's  a  leetle  slow  a-goin,'  an'  she 

moughty  ha'd  to  sta't, 
But  we  's  gittin'  ol'  togathah,  an' 

she  's  closah  to  my  hea't, 
An*  I  doesn't  reckon,  mistah,  dat 

she'd  sca'cely  keer  to  pa't; 
Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 

W'y  I  knows  de  time  dat  cidah  's 

kin'  o'  muddled  up  my  haid, 
Ef    it    hadn't    been     fu'     Sukey 

hyeah,   I   reckon   I  'd  been 

daid  ; 

Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 
But  she  got  me  in  de  middle  o' 

de      road      an*      tuk     me 

home, 
An*  she  would  n't  let  me  wandah, 

ner   she   would  n't   let   me 

roam, 
Dat 's  de   kin'   o'   hoss   to   tie   to 

w'en  you  's  seed  de  cidah 's 

foam, 
Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 


Dey  is  people,  dey  is  bosses,  den 
dey's  cattle,  den  dey 's — 
well  — 

Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine; 
She   de    beatenes'    t'ing   dat   evah 
struck    de   medders    o'    de 
town, 

An'  aldough  huh  haid  ain't  fittin' 
fu'  to  waih  no  golden 
crown. 

D'  ain't  a  blessed  way  fu'  Petah 
•fu'  to  tu'n  my  Sukey  down, 
Dat  oF  mare  o'  mine. 


IN  THE  MORNING 


Lawd ! 
day's 


'LiAs!     'Lias!     Bless    de 
Don'      you      know       de 

erbroad  ? 
Ef  you  don'  git  up,  you  scamp, 
Dey  '11  be  trouble  in  dis  camp. 
T'ink  I  gwine  to  let  you  sleep 
Wile  I  meks  yo'  boa'd  an'  keep? 
Dat 's  a  putty  howdy-do  — 
Don'  you  hyeah  me,  'Lias  —  you? 

Bet  ef  I  come  crost  dis  flo' 
You  won'  fin'  no  time  to  sno'. 
Daylight  all  a-shinin'  in 
Wile  you  sleep  —  w'y  hit 's  a  sin ! 
Ain't  de  can'le-light  enough 
To  bu'n  out  widout  a  snuff, 
But  you  go  de  mo'nin'  thoo 
Bu'nin'  up   de  daylight  too? 


You  kin   talk  erbout  yo'  heaven,      'Lias,  don'  you  hyeah  me  call? 
you  kin  talk  erbout  yo'  hell,      No  use  tu'nin'  to'ds  de  wall  ; 
[190] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


I  kin  hyeah  dat  mattuss  squeak;         (You  set  still  —  I  see  yo'  feet; 
Don'  you  hyeah  me  w'en  I  speak?      You  jes'  try  dat  trick  agin!) 
Dis  hyeah   clock  done  struck  off      "  Gin  us  peace  an'  joy.     Amen!" 

six  — 

Ca'line,  bring  me  dem  ah  sticks! 
Oh,    you    down,    suh;    huh,    you 


down  — 

Look    hyeah,    don'    you    daih    to 
frown. 

Ma'ch  yo'se'f  an'  wash  yo'  face, 
Don'  you  splattah  all  de  place; 
I  got  somep'n  else  to  do, 
'Sides  jes'  cleanin'  aftah  you. 
Tek  dat  comb  an'  fix  yo'  haid  — 
Looks  jes'  lak  a  feddah  baid. 
Look  hyeah,  boy,  I  let  you  see 
You  sha'  n't  roll  yo'  eyes  at  me. 

Come   hyeah;    bring   me    dat   ah 

strap ! 
Boy,    I  '11   whup   you    'twell   you 

drap; 

You  done  felt  yo'se'f  too  strong, 
An'  you  sholy  got  me  wrong. 
Set  down  at  dat  table  thaih; 
Jes'  you  whimpah  ef  you  daih! 
Evah  mo'nin'  on  dis  place, 
Seem  lak  I  mus'  lose  my  grace. 


THE  POET 

HE  sang  of  life,  serenely 

With,  now  and  then,  a  deeper 

note. 
From  some  high  peak,  nigh  yet 

remote, 

He  voiced  the  world's  absorbing 
beat. 

He  sang  of  love  when  earth  was 

young, 
And    Love,    itself,   was    in   his 

lays. 
But  ah,  the  world,  it  turned  to 

praise 
A  jingle  in  a  broken  tongue. 


A  FLORIDA  NIGHT 


WIN'  a-blowin'  gentle  so  de  san' 

lay  low, 
San'  a  little  heavy  f'om  de  rain, 

Fol'  yo'  ban's  an'  bow  yo'  haid  —      All  de  pa'ms  a-wavin'  an'  a-weav- 
Wait   ontwell   de  blessin'  's  said ;  in'  slow, 

"  Lawd,     have     mussy     on     ouah          Sighin'     lak    a    sinnah-soul    in 

souls  — "  pain. 

(Don'    you    daih    to     tech    dem      Alligator     grinnin'     by     de     ol' 

rolls  — )  lagoon, 

"  Bless   de     food     we    gwine    to      Mockin'-bird    a-singin'   to   be   big 
eat  — "  full  moon, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

'Skeeter     go     a-skimmin'     to     his  DIFFERENCES 

fightin'  chune 

(Lizy    Ann  's    a-waitin'    in    de      MY  neighbor  lives  on  the  hill, 
lanet).  And  I  in  the  valley  dwell, 

My  neighbor  must  look  down  on 
Moccasin   a-sleepin'   in   de  Cyprus  me> 

swamp;  Must  I  look  up?  — ah,  well, 

Need  n't  wake  de  gent'man,  not      My  neighbor  lives  on  the  hill, 
fu'  me.  And  I  in  the  valley  dwell. 

Mule,    you    need  n't    wake    him 
w'en  you  switch  an'  stomp, 
Fightin'  off  a  'skeeter  er  a  flea. 
Florida  is  lovely,  she 's   de  fines' 

Ian' 
Evah    seed    de    sunlight    f'om    de 


Mastah's  ban', 

'Ceptin'  fu'  de  varmints  an'  huh 
fleas  an'  san' 


My  neighbor  reads,  and  prays, 
And  I  —  I  laugh,  God  wot, 

And   sing  like   a   bird   when   the 

grass  is  green 
In  my  small  garden  plot; 

But  ah,  he  reads  and  prays, 
And  I  —  I  laugh,  God  wot. 


His  face  is  a  book  of  woe, 


An'   de  nights  w'en  Lizy  Ann          And  mine  is  a  song  of  glee; 

A  slave  he  is  to  the  great  "  They 


ain'  free. 


say, 


But  I  —  I  am  bold  and  free ; 
No  wonder  he  smacks  of  woe, 
And  I  have  the  tang  of  glee. 


Moon  's  a-kinder  shaddered  on  de 

melon  patch; 
No   one   ain't   a-watchin'   ez   I 

go. 

Climbin'  of  de  fence  so  's  not  to  My  neighbor  thinks  me  a  fool, 

click   de  latch  "The  same  to  yourself,"  say  I; 

Meks    my    gittin'    in    a    little  "  Why  take  your  books  and  take 

slow.  your  prayers, 

Watermelon     smilin'     as    it    say,          Give  me  the  open  sky ; " 

"  I  's  free ;  "  My  neighbor  thinks  me  a  fool, 
Alligator  boomin',  but  I  let  him          "  The  same  to  yourself,"  say  I. 

be, 
Florida,  oh,  Florida's  de  Ian'  fu'  A     M 

J-/ vv JN  Cjr  ./TLvJvy 

me  — 

(Lizy  Ann  a-singin'  sweet  an'      DE    ol'     time's    gone,     de    new 
low).  time's  hyeah 

Wid  all  hits  fuss  an'  feddahs; 

[192] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


I  done  fu'got  de  joy  an'  cheah 
We   knowed   all   kin's  o'   wed- 

dahs, 
I  done  fu'got  each  ol'-time  hymn 

We  ust  to  sing  in  meetin'; 
I 's  leahned  de  prah's,  so  neat  an' 

trim, 
De  preachah  keeps  us  'peatin'. 

Hang  a  vine  by  de  chimney  side, 
An'  one  by  de  cabin  do'; 

An'   sing  a  song  fu'   de   day   dat 

died, 
De  day  of  long  ergo. 

My   youf,    hit 's    gone,    yes,    long 

ergo, 

An'  yit  I  ain't  a-moanin'; 
Hit 's    fu'    somet'ings    I    ust    to 

know 

I  set  to-night  a-honin'. 
De  pallet  on  de  ol'  plank  flo', 

De  rain  bar'l  und'  de  eaves, 
De  live  oak  'fo'  de  cabin  do', 
Whaih  de  night  dove  comes  an' 
grieves. 

Hang  a  vine  by  de  chimney  side, 
An'  one  by  de  cabin  do'; 

An'   sing  a  song   fu'   de   day   dat 

died, 
De  day  of  long  ergo. 

I  'd  lak  a  few  oP  f rien's  to-night 
To  come  an'  set  wid  me; 

An'  let  me  feel  dat  ol'  delight 
I  ust  to  in  dey  glee. 

But  hyeah  we  is,  my  pipe  an'  me, 
Wid  no  one  else  erbout; 


We  bofe  is  choked  ez  choked  kin 

be, 
An'  bofe  '11  soon  go  out. 

Hang  a  vine  by  de  chimney  side, 
An'  one  by  de  cabin  do'; 

An'  sing  a  song  fu'   de   day  dat 

died, 
De  day  of  long  ergo. 


A  PLANTATION   MELODY 

DE  trees  is  bendin'  in  de  sto'm, 
De  rain  done  hid  de  mountain's 
fo'm, 

I 's  'lone  an'  in  distress. 
But  listen,  dah  's  a  voice  I  hyeah, 
A-sayin'  to  me,  loud  an'  cleah, 

"  Lay  low  in  de  wildaness." 

De  lightnin'  flash,  de  bough  sway 

low, 
My  po'  sick  hea't  is  trimblin7  so, 

It  hu'ts  my  very  breas'. 
But    him    dat    give    de    lightnin' 

powah 

Jes'  bids  me  in  de  tryin'  howah 
"  Lay  low  in  de  wildaness." 

O  brothah,  w'en  de  tempes*  beat, 
An'  w'en  yo'  weary  head  an'  feet 

Can't  fin'  no  place  to  res', 
Jes'    'membah    dat    de    Mastah  Js 

nigh, 
An'   putty  soon  you  '11   hyeah   de 

cry, 
"  Lay  low  in  de  wildaness." 


[193] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

O  sistah,  w'en  de  rain  come  down,      Oh,  orphans  a-weepin'  lak  de  wid- 
An'    all    yo'    hopes    is    'bout    to  der  do, 

drown,  An'  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me  why: 

Don't  trus'  de  Mastah  less.  De   Mastah   is   a   mammy   an'    a 

He    smilin'    w'en    you    t'ink    he  pappy  too; 

frown,  Lif  up  yo'  haid  w'en  de  King 

He  ain'   gwine   let  yo'   soul  sink  go  by! 

down  — 
Lay  low  in  de  wildaness.  Oh»   Moses  sot  de   sarpint  in   de 

wildahness 
Wen     de     chillun     had     com- 


A 

Some    'efused    to    look,    but    hit 

DE  'cession  's-  stahted  on  de  gospel  '    cuohed  de  res'; 

waVj  Lif  up  yo'  haid  w'en  de  King 

De  Capting  is  a-drawin'  nigh:  £°  "?' 

Bettah  stop  a-foolin'  an'  a-try  to  BQW  down>  bow  ^    down> 

T.,,Pray;,,    .,     ,       ,    _.  Bow  down, 

Lrf   up  yo   ha,d  w  en  de  King  Buf  i;f  up      ,  haid  w>en  de  E 

S°  fey!  go  by! 

Oh,  sinnah  mou'nin'  in  de  dusty 

road,  THE  MEMORY  OF 

Hyeah  's  de  minute  fu'  to  dry  MARTHA 

yo'  eye: 

Dey  's   a   moughty   One   a-comin'  °UT  m  de  nl'ght  a  sad  blrd  moans, 

fu'  to  baih  yo'  load;  An'>    oh>    but    hlt  's    Doughty 

Lif  up  yo'  haid  w'en  de  King  lonely; 

go  by!  Times    I    kin    sing,    but    mos'    I 

groans', 

Oh,  widder  weepin'   by  yo'  hus-  Fu'     oh,     but    hit  's    moughty 

ban's  grave,  lonely! 

Hit  's   bettah    fu'    to    sing    den  Is   you   sleepin'   well   dis   evenin', 

sigh:  Marfy,   deah? 

Hyeah   come   de   Mastah  wid   de  W'en  I  calls  you  fom  de  cabin, 

powah  to  save;  kin  you  hyeah? 

Lif  up  yo'  haid  w'en  de  King  'T  ain't  de  same  oP  place  to  me, 

go  by!  Nuffin'  's  lak  hit  used  to  be, 

[194] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Wen  I  knowed  dat  you  was  allus  WEN  I  GITS  HOME 

some'ers  near. 

ITS     moughty     tiahsome     laym 

Down    by    de    road    de    shadders  roun 

grows  -^s  sorrer-laden   earfly  groun', 

An',    oh,    but    hit's    moughty  An'    oftentimes    I    thinks,    thinks 

lonely ;  I> 

Seem     lak     de     ve'y     moonlight  'T  would  be  a  sweet  t'ing  des  to 

knows,  die, 

An',    oh,    but    hit's    moughty  An'  go  'long  home. 

lonely ! 

Does  you  know,  I 's  cryin'  fu'  you,  Home  whaih  de  frien's  I  loved  '11 

oh,  my  wife?  say> 

Does  you  know  dey  ain't  no  joy  "We've  waited  fu'  you  many  a 

no  mo'  in  life?  day, 

An'  my  only  t'ought  is  dis,  Come  hyeah   an'   res'  yo'se'f,   an' 

Dat  I 's  honin'  fu'  de  bliss  know 

Fu'   to  quit  dis  groun'  o'  worri-  You 's   done   wid   sorrer   an*   wid 

ment  an'  strife.  woe, 

Now  you  's  at  home." 
Dah  on  de  baid  my  banjo  lays, 

An',    oh,    but    hit 's    moughty  Wen    I    gits   home   some   blessid 

lonely ;  day, 

Can't  even  sta't  a  chune  o'  praise,  I  'lows  to  th'ow  my  caihs  erway, 

An',    oh,    but    hit 's    moughty  An'  up  an'  down  de  shinin'  street, 

lonely!  Go  singin'  sof  an'  low  an'  sweet, 

Oh,  hit's  moughty  slow  a-waitin'  Wen  I  gits  home. 

hyeah  below. 

Is  you   watchin'   fu'   me,   Marfy,  I  wish    de  day  was  neah  at  ban', 

at  de  do'  ?  I 's  tiahed  of  dis  grievin'  Ian', 

Ef  you  is,  in  spite  o'  sin,  I 's  tiahed  of  de  lonely  yeahs, 

Dey  '11  be  sho'  to  let  me  in,  I  want  to  des  dry  up  my  teahs, 

Wen  dey  sees  yoj  face  a-shinin',  An'   go  'long  home, 
den  dey  '11  know. 

Oh,   Mastah,   won't  you   sen'    de 

call? 

My  frien's  is  daih,  my  hope,  my 
all. 

[1953 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

I 's  waitin'  whaih  de  road  is  rough,  Sweetah  den  de  music  of  a  love- 
sick mockin'-bird, 

Comin'  f'om  de  gal  you  loves  bet- 
tah  den  yo'  kin, 

"  Howdy,  honey,  howdy,  won't 
you  step  right  in  ?  " 


you     say, 


I     want     to     hyeah 

"  Enough, 
Ol'  man,  come  home !  " 


"HOWDY,  HONEY, 
HOWDY!" 

Do'    a-stan'in'    on    a    jar, 
a-shinin'  thoo, 


fiah 


At    de    gate    o'    heaven    w'en    de 

storm  o'  life  is  pas', 
'Spec'  I  '11  be  a-stan'in',  'twell  de 

Mastah  say  at  las', 


I»VPWPWUI     ui+jr      en.     JLCVO   j 

01   folks  drowsin'^roun' de  place,      "Hyeah   he  stan'   all  weary,   but 


wide  awake  is  Lou, 


he  winned  his  fight  wid  sin. 


?  '  m^U.      lliS     Ji&UL      W1U      Sill. 

Wen  I  tap,  she  answeh,  an'  I  see      Howdy,  honey,  howdy,  won't  you 
huh  'mence  to  grin,  step  right  in?» 

"  Howdy,    honey,    howdy,    won't 
you  step  right  in  ?  " 

Den  I  step  erpon  de  log  layin'  at         THE  UNSUNG  HEROES 

A  SONG  for  the  unsung  heroes 
who  rose  in  the  country's 
need, 

When  the  life  of  the  land  was 
threatened  by  the  slaver's 
cruel  greed, 


de  do', 
Bless  de  Lawd,  huh  mammy  an' 

huh   pap  's   done   'menced    to 

sno', 
Now 's   de  time,   ef  evah,  ef  I 's 

gwine  to  try  an'  win, 


"Howdy,    honey,    howdy,    won't      _       :ruel  greed' 

you  step  right  in?"  For  the  men  who  came  from  the 

cornfield,  who  came  from  the 

No     use     playin'     on     de     aidge,  plough  and  the  flail, 

trimblin'  on  de  brink,  Who    rallied    round    when    they 

heard     the     sound     of     the 


W'en  a  body  love  a  gal,  tell  huh 

whut  he  t'ink; 
W'en  huh  hea't  is  open  fu'  de  love 

you  gwine  to  gin, 
Pull  yo'se'f  togethah,  suh,  an'  step 

right  in. 


Sweetes'    imbitation    dat    a    body 
evah  hyeahed, 


[196] 


the     sound 
mighty  man  of  the  rail. 

They  laid  them  down  in  the  val- 
leys, they  laid  them  down  in 
the  wood, 

And  the  world  looked  on  at  the 
work  they  did,  and  whis- 
pered, "  It  is  good." 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


They  fought  their  way  on  the 
hillside,  they  fought  their 
way  in  the  glen, 

And  God  looked  down  on  their 
sinews  brown,  and  said,  "  I 
have  made  them  men." 

They  went  to  the  blue  lines  gladly, 
and  the  blue  lines  took  them 
in, 

And  the  men  who  saw  their 
muskets'  fire  thought  not  of 
their  dusky  skin. 

The  gray  lines  rose  and  melted 
beneath  their  scathing  show- 
ers, 

And  they  said,  "  'T  is  true,  they 
have  force  to  do,  these  old 
slave  boys  of  ours." 

Ah,  Wagner  saw  their  glory,  and 

Pillow  knew  their  blood, 
That  poured  on  a  nation's  altar, 

a  sacrificial  flood. 
Port  Hudson  heard  their  war-cry 

that    smote    its    smoke-filled 

air, 
And   the   old    free   fires   of   their 

savage      sires      again      were 

kindled  there. 

They  laid  them  down  where  the 
rivers  the  greening  valleys 
gem. 

And  the  song  of  the  thund'rous 
cannon  was  their  sole  re- 
quiem, 


And  the  great  smoke  wreath  that 
mingled  its  hue  with  the 
dusky  cloud, 

Was  the  flag  that  furled  o'er  a 
saddened  world,  and  the 
sheet  that  made  their  shroud. 

Oh,  Mighty  God  of  the  Battles 
Who  held  them  in  Thy 
hand, 

Who  gave  them  strength  through 
the  whole  day's  length,  to 
fight  for  their  native  land, 

They  are  lying  dead  on  the  hill- 
sides, they  are  lying  dead  on 
the  plain, 

And  we  have  not  fire  to  smite  the 
lyre  and  sing  them  one  brief 
strain. 

Give,  Thou,  some  seer  the  power 

to  sing  them  in  their  might, 
The  men  who  feared  the  master's 

whip,   but   did   not   fear   the 

fight; 
That  he  may  tell  of  their  virtues 

as  minstrels  did  of  old, 
Till  the  pride  of  face  and  the  hate 

of    race    grow    obsolete    and 

cold. 

A  song  for  the  unsung  heroes  who 

stood  the  awful  test, 
When  the  humblest  host  that  the 

land  could  boast  went  forth 

to  meet  the  best; 
A  song  for  the  unsung  heroes  who 

fell  on  the  bloody  sod, 


[197] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Who  fought  their  way  from  night     What 's  de  use  o'  kiver'n  up  yo' 


to  day  and  struggled  up  to 
God. 

THE  POOL 

BY   the  pool   that   I    see   in   my 

dreams,  dear  love, 
I  have  sat  with  you  time  and 
again ; 


face? 

Chile,  dat  ain't  de  way  to  do. 
Lemme  see  yo'  little  eyes, 

Tek  yo'  little  han's  down  nice, 
Lawd,  you  wuff  a  million  bills, 
Huh   uh,    chile,    dat   ain't   yo' 
price. 

Honey,  de  money  ain't  been  made 


And    listened    beneath    the    dank     ,    Dat  <ley  could  pay  fu' you; 

leaves,  dear  love,  T  ain't  no  use  a-biddin';  you  too 

high 

Fu'  de  riches'  Jap  er  Jew. 
Lemme  see  you  smilin'  now, 


To   the   sibilant   sound   of   the 
rain. 


And  the  pool,  it  is  silvery  bright, 

dear  love, 
And  as  pure  as  the  heart  of  a 


How    dem    teef 
shine, 


o'    yo'n    do 


An'  de 


dat  meks  me  laff 


As    sparkling    and    dimpling,    it 

darkles  and  shines 
In  the  depths  of  the  heart  of 
the  glade. 


Is  dat  all  o'  you  is  mine. 

How  's  I  gwine  to  tell  you  how  I 

feel, 
How 's   I   gwine   to  weigh  yo' 

wuff? 
Oh,  you  sholy  is  de  sweetes'  t'ing 

Walkin'  on  dis  blessed  earf. 
Possum  is  de  sweetes'  meat, 
Cidah  is  the  nices'  drink, 


But,  oh,  I  Ve  a  wish  in  my  soul, 

dear  love, 
(The   wish    of    a    dreamer,    it 

seems,)  ^ 

~,        T       .  /  ,     ,          ,  But  my  little  lady-bird 

That   I   might  wash   free  of  my          T     .    ,     ,,,;,.., 
.      6,  Is  de  bes'  of  all,  I  t'mk. 

sins,  dear  love, 

In  the  pool  that  I  see  in  my 
dreams. 


POSSESSION 

WHOSE  little  lady  is  you,  chile, 
Whose  little  gal  is  you? 


Talk  erbout  'uligion  he'pin'  folks 
All  thoo  de  way  o'  life, 

Gin  de  res'  'uligion,  des'  gin  me 
You,  my  little  lady-wife. 

Den  de  days  kin  come  all  ha'd, 
Den    de    nights    kin    come    all 
black, 


[198] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Des'  you  tek  me  by  de  ban', 
An'  I  '11  stumble  on  de  track. 

Stumble  on  de  way  to  Gawd,  my 

chile, 

Stumble  on,  an'  mebbe  fall  ; 
But  1 11  keep  a-trottin',  while  you 

lead  on, 

Pickin'  an'  a-trottin',  dat  's  all. 
Hoi'    me    mighty    tight,    dough, 

chile, 

Fu'  hit 's  rough  an'  rocky  Ian', 
Heaben  's  at  de  en',  I  know, 
So  I 's  leanin'  on  yo'  ban'. 

THE  OLD  FRONT  GATE 

WEN  daih  's  chillun  in  de  house, 

Dey  keep  on  a-gittin'  tall; 
But  de  folks  don'  seem  to  see 

Dat  dey  's  growin'  up  at  all, 
}Twell  dey  fin'  out  some  fine  day 

Dat    de    gals    has    'menced    to 

grow, 
Wen  dey  notice  as  dey  pass 

Dat  de  front  gate  's  saggin'  low. 

Wen  de  hinges  creak  an'  cry, 

An'  de  bahs  go  slantin'  down, 
You  kin  reckon  dat  hit 's  time 

Fu'  to  cas'  yo'  eye  erroun', 
'Cause  daih  ain't  no  'sputin'  dis, 

Hit 's  de  trues'  sign  to  show 
Dat  daih  's  cou'tin'  goin'  on 

Wen  de  ol'  front  gate  sags  low. 


Oh,  you  grumble  an'  complain, 
An'  you  prop  dat  gate  up  right ; 


But  you  notice  right  nex'  day 
Dat  hit 's  in  de  same  ol'  plight. 

So  you  fin'  dat  hit 's  a  rule, 

An'  daih  ain'  no  use  to  blow, 

Wen  de  gals  is  growin'  up, 
Dat  de  front  gate  will  sag  low. 

Den  you  t'ink  o'  yo'  young  days, 

Wen  you  cou'ted  Sally  Jane, 
An'  you  so't  o'  feel  ashamed 

Fu'  to  grumble  an'  complain, 
'Cause  yo'  ricerlection  says, 

An'  you  know  hits  wo'ds  is  so, 
Dat  huh  pappy  had  a  time 

Wid  his  front  gate  saggin'  low. 

So  you  jes'  looks  on  an'  smiles 

At  'em  leanin'  on  de  gate, 
Tryin-'  to  t'ink  whut  he  kin  say 

Fu'  to  keep  him  daih  so  late, 
But  you  lets  dat  gate  erlone, 

Fu'  yo'  'sperunce  goes  to  show, 
'Twell  de  gals  is  ma'ied  off, 

It  gwine  keep  on  saggin'  low. 


DIRGE  FOR  A  SOLDIER 

IN  the  east  the  morning  comes, 
Hear  the  rollin'  of  the  drums 

On  the  hill. 
But  the  heart  that  beat  as  they 

beat 
In  the  battle's  raging  day  heat 

Lieth  still. 

Unto  him  the  night  has  come, 
Though    they    roll    the    morning 

drum. 


[199] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


What  is  in  the  bugle's  blast? 
It  is:  "Victory  at  last! 

Now  for  rest." 
But,    my   comrades,    come   behold 

him, 
Where  our  colors  now  enfold  him, 

And  his  breast 

Bares  no  more  to  meet  the  blade, 
But  lies  covered  in  the  shade. 

What  a  stir  there  is  to-day! 
They  are  laying  him  away 

Where  he  fell. 
There  the  flag  goes  draped  before 

him; 
Now  they  pile  the  grave  sod  o'er 

him 

With  a  knell. 

And  he  answers  to  his  name 
In  the  higher  ranks  of  fame. 

There  's  a  woman  left  to  mourn 
For  the  child  that  she  has  borne 

In  travail. 
But    her    heart    beats    high    and 

higher, 
With  the  patriot  mother's  fire, 

At  the  tale. 

She  has  borne  and  lost  a  son, 
But  her  work  and  his  are  done. 

Fling  the  flag  out,  let  it  wave ; 

They  're      returning      from      the 
grave  — 

"Double  quick!" 

And  the  cymbals  now  are  crash- 
ing, 


Bright  his  comrades'  eyes  are  flash- 
ing 

From  the  thick 

Battle-ranks     which     knew     him 
brave, 

No  tears  for  a  hero's  grave. 

In  the  east  the  morning  comes, 
Hear  the  rattle  of  the  drums 

Far  away. 

Now  no  time  for  grief's  pursuing, 
Other  work  is  for  the  doing, 

Here  to-day. 

He  is  sleeping,  let  him  rest 
With  the  flag  across  his  breast. 


A  FROLIC 

SWING  yo'  lady  roun'  an'  roun', 

Do  de  bes*  you  know; 
Mek  yo'  bow  an*  p'omenade 

Up  an'  down  de  flo'; 
Mek  dat  banjo  hump  huhse'f, 

Listen  at  huh  talk: 
Mastah  gone  to  town  to-night; 

'T  ain't  no  time  to  walk. 

Lif  yo'  feet  an'  flutter  thoo, 

Run,  Miss  Lucy,  run  ; 
Reckon    you  '11    be    cotched     an' 
kissed 

'Fo'  de  night  is  done. 
You  don't  need  to  be  so  proud  — 

I 's  a-watchin'  you, 
An'  I 's  layin'  lots  o'  plans 

Fu'  to  git  you,  too. 


[20O] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Moonlight  on  de  cotton-fiel' 

Shinin'  sof  an'  white, 
Whippo'will  a-tellin'  tales 

Out  thaih  ir  de  night  ; 
An'  yo'  cabin  's  'crost  de  lot : 

Run,  Miss  Lucy,  run; 
Reckon    you  '11    be    cotched    an' 
kissed 

'Fo'  de  night  is  done. 


NODDIN'  BY  DE  FIRE 

SOME  folks  t'inks  hit 's  right  an' 
p'opah, 

Soon  ez  bedtime  come  erroun', 
Fu'  to  scramble  to  de  kiver, 

Lak  dey  'd  hyeahed  de  trumpet 

soun'. 
But  dese  people  dey  all  misses 

Whut  I  mos'ly  does  desiah; 
Dat  's  de  settin'  roun'  an'  dozin', 

An'  a-noddin'  by  de  fiah. 

When  you  's  tiahed  out  a-hoein', 

Er  a-followin'  de  plough, 
Whut 's  de  use  of  des  a-fallin' 

On  yo'  pallet  lak  a  cow? 
W'y,  de  fun  is  all  in  waitin* 

In  de  face  of  all  de  tiah, 
An'  a-dozin'  and  a-drowsin* 

By  a  good  ol'  hick'ry  fiah. 

Oh,    you    grunts    an'    groans    an* 

mumbles 
Case  yo'  bones  is  full  o'  col', 


Dough  you  feels  de  joy  a-tricklin' 
Roun'  de  co'nahs  of  yo'  soul. 

An'  you  'low  anothah  minute 
'S    sho    to   git   you   wa'm    an' 
dryah, 

W'en  you  set  up  pas'  yo'  bedtime, 
Case  you  hates  to  leave  de  fiah. 

Whut 's     de     use     o'     downright 
sleepin'  ? 

You  can't  feel  it  while  it  las', 
An*  you  git  up  feelin'  sorry 

W'en  de  time  fu'  it  is  pas'. 
Seem  to  me  dat  time  too  precious, 

An'  de  houahs  too  short  entiah, 
Fu'  to  sleep,  w'en  you  could  spen' 
'em 

Des  a-noddin'  by  de  fiah. 


LOVE'S  CASTLE 

KEY  and  bar,  key  and  bar, 

Iron  bolt  and  chain! 
And  what  will  you  do  when  the 
King  comes 

To  enter  his  domain? 

Turn  key  and  lift  bar, 

Loose,  oh,  bolt  and  chain! 

Open  the  door  and  let  him  in, 
And  then  lock  up  again. 

But,  oh,  heart,  and  woe,  heart, 
Why  do  you  ache  so  sore? 

Never  a  moment's  peace  have  you 
Since  Love  hath  passed  the  door. 


[201] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Turn  key  and  lift  bar, 
And  loose  bolt  and  chain ; 

But  Love  took  in  his  esquire,  Grief, 
And  there  they  both  remain. 


MORNING  SONG  OF 
LOVE 

DARLING,  my  darling,  my  heart  is 

on  the  wing, 
It  flies  to  thee  this  morning  like 

a  bird, 
Like  happy  birds  in  springtime  my 

spirits  soar  and  sing, 
The  same  sweet  song  thine  ears 
have  often  heard. 

The  sun  is  in  my  window,   the 

shadow  on  the  lea, 
The    wind    is    moving    in    the 

branches  green, 
And   all  my  life,  my  darling,  is 

turning  unto  thee, 
And   kneeling  at  thy  feet,   my 
own,  my  queen. 

The  golden  bells  are  ringing  across 

the  distant  hill, 
Their  merry  peals  come  to  me 

soft  and  clear, 
But  in  my  heart's  deep  chapel  all 

incense-filled  and  still 
A  sweeter  bell  is  sounding  for 
thee,  dear. 


The  bell   of  love   invites  thee  to 
come  and  seek  the  shrine 

[202] 


Whose    altar    is    erected    unto 

thee, 
The   offerings,    the    sacrifice,    the 

prayers,     the     chants     are 

thine, 
And   I,   my   love,   thy  humble 

priest  will  be. 


ON  A  CLEAN  BOOK 

TO   F.    N. 

LIKE   sea-washed   sand   upon   the 
shore, 

So  fine  and  clean  the  tale, 
So  clear  and  bright  I  almost  see, 

The  flashing  of  a  sail. 

The  tang  of  salt  is  in  its  veins, 
The  freshness  of  the  spray 

God  give  you  love  and  lore  and 

strength, 
To  give  us  such  alway. 


TO  THE  EASTERN 
SHORE 

I 's  feelin'  kin*  o'  lonesome  in  my 

little  room  to-night, 
An'  my  min  's  done  los'  de  min- 
utes an'  de  miles, 
Wile  it  teks  me  back  a-flyin'  to 

de  country  of  delight, 
Whaih     de     Chesapeake     goes 

grumblin'  er  wid  smiles. 

Oh,  de  oP  plantation  's  callin' 

to  me,  Come,  come  back, 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Hyeah  's  de  place  f  u'  you  to  la- 

bouh  an'  to  res', 
'Fu  my  sandy  roads  is  gleam- 
in'   w'ile   de  city  ways  is 
black; 

Come    back,    honey,    case    yo' 
country  home  is  bes'. 

I  know  de  moon  is  shinin'  down 

erpon  de  Eastern  sho', 
An'   de  bay 's   a-sayin'    "  How- 
dy "  to  de  Ian' ; 
An'   de   folks  is  all  a-settin'   out 

erroun'  de  cabin  do', 
Wid  dey  feet  a-restin'  in  de  sil- 

vah  san'; 
An'  de  ol'  plantation  's  callin' 

to  me,  Come,  oh,  come, 
F'om  de  life  dat  's  des'  a-waih- 

in'  you  erway, 
F'om  de  trouble  an'  de  bustle, 

an'  de  agernizin'  hum 
Dat  de  city  keeps  ergoin'  all  de 
day. 

I 's  tiahed  of  de  city,  tek  me  back 

to  Sandy  Side, 
Whaih  de  po'est  ones  kin  live 

an'  play  an'  eat  ; 
Whaih  we  draws  a  simple  livin' 

f'om  de  fo'est  an'  de  tide, 
An*  de  days  ah  faih,  an'  evah 

night  is  sweet. 
Fu'  de  ol'  plantation  's  callin' 

to  me,  Come,  oh,  come. 
An*    de    Chesapeake 's    a-sayin' 
"  Dat 's  de  t'ing," 


[203] 


Wile  my  little  cabin  beckons, 
dough  his  mouf  is  closed 
an'  dumb, 

I 's  a-comin,   an'   my  hea't  be- 
gins to  sing. 


RELUCTANCE 

WILL  I  have  some  mo'  dat  pie? 

No,    ma'am,    thank-ee,    dat    is  — 
j 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
Dat  ah  pie  look  sutny  good: 
How  'd  you  feel  now  ef  I  would  ? 
I  don'  reckon  dat  I  should; 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 

Look  hyeah,  I  gwine  tell  de  truf, 
Mine  is  sholy  one  sweet  toof : 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
Yass'm,  yass'm,  dat 's  all  right, 
I 's  done  tried  to  be  perlite : 
But  dat  pie  's  a  lakly  sight, 

Wha's  de  use  o'  daihin'  me? 

My,  yo'  lips  is  full  an'  red, 
Don't  I  wish  you  'd  tu'n  yo'  haid  ? 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
Dat  ain't  faih,  now,  honey  chile, 
I 's  gwine  lose  my  sense  erwhile 
Ef  you  des  set  daih  an'  smile, 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 

Nuffin'  don'  look  ha'f  so  fine 

Ez  dem  teef ,  deah,  w'en  dey  shine : 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
Now  look  hyeah,  I  tells  you  dis; 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I  '11  give  up  all  othah  bliss 

Des  to  have  one  little  kiss, 

,  Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 

Laws,  I  teks  yo'  little  ban', 
Ain't  it  tendah?  bless   de   Ian' — 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
I 's  so  lonesome  by  myse'f, 
'D  ain't  no  fun  in  livin'  lef ' ; 
Dis  hyeah  life  's  ez  dull  ez  def : 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 

Why  n't  you  tek  yo'  ban'  erway  ? 
Yass,  I '11  hoi'  it:  but  I  say 

Bettah  quit  daihin'  me. 
Holin'  ban's  is  sholy  fine. 
Seems  lak  dat  's  de  weddin'  sign. 
Wish    you  'd   say   dat   you  'd    be 
mine;  — 

Dah  you  been  daihin'  me. 

BALLADE 

BY  Mystic's  banks  I  held  my 
dream. 

(I  held  my  fishing  rod  as  well,) 
The  vision  was  of  dace  and  bream, 

A  fruitless  vision,  sooth  to  tell. 

But  round  about  the  sylvan  dell 
Were  other  sweet  Arcadian 
shrines, 

Gone  now,  is  all  the  rural  spell, 
Arcadia  has  trolley  lines. 

Oh,  once  loved,  sluggish,  darkling 
stream, 


For   me   no   more,   thy   waters 

swell, 
Thy     music     now     the     engines' 

scream, 
Thy  fragrance  now  the  factory's 

smell  ; 
Too  near  for  me  the  clanging 

bell; 

A  false  light  in  the  water  shines 
While     Solitude    lists    to    her 

knell,— 
Arcadia  has  trolley  lines. 

Thy  wooded  lanes  with  shade  and 

gleam 

Where  bloomed  the  fragrant  as- 
phodel, 

Now  bleak  commercially  teem 
With    signs    "To    Let,"    "  To 

Buy,"  "To  Sell." 
And     Commerce     holds     them 

fierce  and  fell; 

With  vulgar  sport  she  now  com- 
bines 
Sweet  Nature's  piping  voice  to 

quell. 
Arcadia  has  trolley  lines. 

L'ENVOI. 

Oh,    awful    Power   whose   works 

repel 

The  marvel  of  the  earth's  de- 
signs,— 

I  '11  hie  me  otherwhere  to  dwell, 
Arcadia  has  trolley  lines. 


[204] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


SPEAKIN'  AT  DE  COU'T- 
HOUSE 

DEY    been    speakin'    at    de    cou't- 
house, 

An'  laws-a-massy  me, 
'Twas  de  beatness  kin'  o'  doin's 

Dat  evah  I  did  see. 
Of  cose  I  had  to  be  dah 

In  de  middle  o'  de  crowd, 
An'  I  hallohed  wid  de  othahs, 

Wen  de  speakah  riz  and  bowed. 

I  was  kind  o'  disapp'inted 

At  de  smallness  of  de  man, 
Case  I  'd  allus  pictered  great  folks 

On  a  mo'  expansive  plan ; 
But  I  t'ought  I  could  respect  him 

An'  tek  in  de  wo'ds  he  said, 
Fu'  dey  sho  was  somp'n  knowin' 

In  de  bald  spot  on  his  haid. 

But  hit  did  seem  so't  o'  funny 

Aftah  waitin'  fu'  a  week 
Dat  de  people  kep'  on  shoutin' 

So  de  man  des  could  n't  speak ; 
De  ho'ns  dey  blared  a  little, 

Den     dey     let     loose     on     de 

drums, — • 
Some  one  tol'  me  dey  was  playin' 

"  See  de  conkerin'  hero  comes." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  you  all  is  white 

folks, 

But  you  's  sutny  actin'  queer, 
What 's  de  use  of  heroes  comin' 
Ef  dey  cain't  talk  w'en   dey 's 
here?" 


Aftah  while  dey  let  him  open, 
An'  dat  man  he  waded  in, 

An'  he  fit  de  wahs  all  ovah 
Winnin'  victeries  lak  sin. 

W'en  he  come  down  to  de  present, 

Den  he  made  de  feathahs  fly. 
He  des  waded  in  on  money, 

An'  he  played  de  ta'iff  high. 
An'  he  said  de  colah  question, 

Hit  was  ovah,  solved,  an'  done, 
Dat  de  dahky  was  his  brothah, 

Evah  blessed  mothah's  son. 

Well  he  settled  all  de  trouble 
Dat 's  been  pesterin'  de  Ian', 

Den  he  set  down  mid  de  cheerin* 
An'  de  playin'  of  de  ban'. 

I  was  feelin'  moughty  happy 
'Twell     I     hyeahed     somebody 
speak, 

"  Well,  dat 's  his  side  of  de  bus'- 


ness, 

But   you   wait 
week/' 


for  Jones   nex' 


BLACK  SAMSON  OF 
BRANDYWINE 

"In  the  fight  at  Brandywine,  Black 
Samson,  a  giant  negro  armed  with  a 
scythe,  sweeps  his  way  through  the 
red  ranks.  .  .  ."  C.  M.  SKINNER'S 
"Myths  and  Legends  of  Our  Own 
Land." 

GRAY  are  the  pages  of  record, 
Dim  are  the  volumes  of  eld; 

Else  had  old  Delaware  told  us 
More  that  her  history  held. 


[205] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OE 


Told  us  with  pride  in  the  story, 
Honest  and  noble  and  fine, 

More  of  the  tale  of  my  hero, 
Black  Samson  of  Brandywine. 

Sing  of  your  chiefs  and  your  no- 
bles, 

Saxon  and  Celt  and  Gaul, 
Breath  of  mine  ever  shall  join  you, 

Highly  I  honor  them  all. 
Give  to  them  all  of  their  glory, 

But  for  this  noble  of  mine, 
Lend  him  a  tithe  of  your  tribute, 

Black  Samson  of  Brandywine. 

There  in  the  heat  of  the  battle, 

There  in  the  stir  of  the  fight, 
Loomed  he,  an  ebony  giant, 

Black  as  the  pinions  of  night. 
Swinging  his  scythe  like  a  mower 

Over  a  field  of  grain, 
Needless  the  care  of  the  gleaners, 

Where  he  had  passed  amain. 

Straight  through  the  human  har- 
vest, 

Cutting  a  bloody  swath, 
Woe  to  you,  soldier  of  Briton! 

Death  is  abroad  in  his  path. 
Flee  from  the  scythe  of  the  reaper, 

Flee  while  the  moment  is  thine, 
None  may  with  safety  withstand 
him, 

Black  Samson  of  Brandywine. 


Was  he  a  freeman  or  bondman? 
Was  he  a  man  or  a  thing? 


What  does  it  matter?     His  brav- 

'ry 

Renders  him  royal' — a  king. 
If  he  was  only  a  chattel, 

Honor  the  ransom  may  pay 
Of  the  royal,  the  loyal  black  giant 
Who    fought    for    his    country 
that  day. 

Noble  and  bright  is  the  story, 

Worthy  the  touch  of  the  lyre, 
Sculptor  or  poet  should  find  it 

Full  of  the  stuff  to  inspire. 
Beat  it  in  brass  and  in  copper, 

Tell  it  in  storied  line, 
So  that  the  world  may  remember 

Black  Samson  of  Brandywine. 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS 

DINAH  stan'  befo'  de  glass, 

Lookin'  moughty  neat, 
An'  huh  purty  shadder  sass 

At  huh  haid  an'  feet. 
While  she  sasshay  'roun'  an'  bow, 
Smilin'  den  an'  poutin'  now, 
An'  de  lookin'-glass,  I  'low 

Say:  "  Now,  ain't  she  sweet?  " 

All  she  do,  de  glass  it  see, 

Hit  des  see,  no  mo', 
Seems  to  me,  hit  ought  to  be 

Drappin'  on  de  flo'. 
She  go  w'en  huh  time  git  slack, 
Kissin'  han's  an*  smilin'  back, 
Lawsy,  how  my  lips  go  smack, 

Watchin'  at  de  do'. 


[206] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Wisht  I  was  huh  lookin'-glass, 
Wen  she  kissed  huh  han' ; 

Does  you  t'ink  I  'd  let  it  pass, 
Settin'  on  de  stan'? 

No;  I'd  des'  fall  down  an'  break, 

Kin'  o'  glad  't  uz  fu'  huh  sake; 

But  de  diffunce,  dat  whut  make 
Lookin'-glass  an'  man. 


A  MISTY  DAY 


No  songs  arise.  Without  thee, 
love, 

My  soul  sinks  down  like  a  fright- 
ened dove. 


LFL'  GAL 

OH,  de  weathah  it  is  balmy  an'  de 
breeze  is  sighin'  low. 

LIT  gal, 

An'  de  mockin'  bird  is  singin'  in 
de  locus'  by  de  do', 
LiT  gal; 


HEART   of  my  heart,   the  day   is 

chill, 

The    mist    hangs    low    o'er    the  Dere  's  a  hummin'  an'  a  bummin' 

wooded  hill,  in  de  Ian'  f'om  eas'  to  wes', 

The  soft  white  mist  and  the  heavy  I 's  a-sighin'  fu'  you,  honey,  an'  I 

cloud  nevah  know  no  res'. 

The  sun  and  the  face  of  heaven  Fu'  dey  's  lots  o'  trouble  brewin' 

shroud.  an'  a-stewin'  in  my  breas', 

The  birds  are  thick  in  the  dripping  LIT  gal. 

trees, 

That  drop  their  pearls  to  the  beg-  Whut 's  de  mattah  wid  de  weathah, 

gar  breeze ;  whut 's    de    mattah    wid    de 

No  songs  are  rife  where  songs  are  breeze, 

wont,  LiT  gal? 

Each  singer  crouches  in  his  haunt.  Whut 's  de  mattah  wid  de  locus' 

dat 's  a-singin'  in  de  trees, 

Heart  of  my  heart,  the  day  is  chill,  LiT  gal  ? 

Whene'er  thy  loving  voice  is  still,  W'y  dey  knows  dey  ladies  love  'em, 
The  cloud  and  mist  hide  the  sky  an'  dey  knows  dey  love  'em 


true, 
An'  dey  love  'em  back,  I  reckon, 


from  me, 

Whene'er  thy  face  I  cannot  see. 
My   thoughts   fly  back   from   the  des'  lak  I 's  a-lovin'  you  ; 

chill  without,  Dat 's   de   reason   dey  's  a-weavin' 

an'  a-sighin',  thoo  an'  thoo, 


My    mind    in    the    storm    drops 
doubt  on  doubt, 

[207] 


LiT  gal. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Don't  you  let  no  da'ky  fool  you 
'cause  de  clo'es  he  waihs  is 
fine, 

LIT  gal. 

Dey  's  a  hones'  hea't  a-beatin'  un- 
nerneaf  dese  rags  o'  mine, 

LIT  gal. 

C'ose  dey  ain'  no  use  in  mockin' 

whut  de  birds  an'  weathah  do, 

But  I  's  so'y  I  cain't  'spress  it  w'en 

I  knows  I  loves  you  true, 
Dat  's  de  reason  I 's  a-sighin'  an* 
a-singin  now  fu'  you, 
LiT  gal. 


DOUGLASS 

AH,  Douglass,  we  have  fall'n  on 

evil  days, 
Such  days  as  thou,  not  even  thou 

didst  know, 
When    thee,    the   eyes    of    that 

harsh  long  ago 
Saw,  salient,  at  the  cross  of  devious 

ways, 
And   all   the   country   heard   thee 

with  amaze. 
Not  ended  then,  the  passionate 

ebb  and  flow, 
The  awful  tide  that  battled  to 

and  fro; 

We   ride  amid  a  tempest  of  dis- 
praise. 

Now,  when  the  waves  of  swift  dis- 
sension swarm, 

[20 


And    Honor,   the  strong   pilot, 

lieth  stark, 
Oh,    for   thy   voice   high-sounding 

o'er  the  storm, 
For  thy  strong  arm  to  guide  the 

shivering  bark, 
The    blast-defying   power    of    thy 

form, 
To  give  us  comfort  through  the 

lonely  dark. 


WHEN  SAM'L  SINGS 

HYEAH  dat  singin'  in  de  medders 

Whaih  de  folks  is  mekin'  hay? 
Wo'k  is  pretty  middlin'  heavy 

Fu'  a  man  to  be  so  gay. 
You  kin  tell  dey  's  somep'n  special 

F'om  de  canter  o'  de  song; 
Somep'n  sholy  pleasin'   Sam'l, 

W'en  he  singin'  all  day  long. 

Hyeahd    him    wa'blin'    'way    dis 
mo'nin' 

'Fo*  't  was  light  enough  to  see. 
Seem  lak  music  in  de  evenin' 

Allus  good  enough  fu'  me. 
But  dat  man  commenced  to  hollah 

'Fo'  he  'd  even  washed  his  face ; 
Would   you    b'lieve,    de    scan'lous 
rascal 

Woke  de  birds  erroun'  de  place  ? 

Sam'l  took  a  trip  a-Sad'day; 

Dressed  hisse'f  in  all  he  had, 
Tuk  a  cane  an'  went  a-strollin', 

Lookin'  mighty  pleased  an'  glad. 
8] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Some    folks   don'   know   whut   de 
mattah, 

But  I  do,  you  bet  yo'  life; 
Sam'l  smilin'  an'   a-singin' 

'Case  he  been  to  see  his  wife. 

She  live  on  de  fu'  plantation, 

Twenty  miles  erway  er  so; 
But  huh  man  is  mighty  happy 

Wen  he  git  de  chanst  to  go. 
Walkin'  allus  ain'  de  nices' — 

Mo'nin'  fin's  him  on  de  way  — 
But  he  allus  comes  back  smilin', 

Lak  his  pleasure  was  his  pay. 

Den  he  do  a  heap  oj  talkin', 

Do'  he  mos'ly  kin'  o'  still, 
But  de  wo'ds,  dey  gits  to  runnin' 

Lak  de  watah  fu'  a  mill. 
"  Whut 's  de  use  o'  havin'  trouble, 

Whut 's  de  use  o'  havin'  strife?  " 
Dat  's  de  way  dis  Sam'l  preaches 

W'en  he  been  to  see  his  wife. 

An'  I  reckon  I  git  jealous, 

Fu'  I  laff  an'  joke  an'  sco'n, 
An'  I  say,  "  Oh,  go  on,  Sam'l, 

Des  go  on,  an'  blow  yo'  ho'n." 
But  I  know  dis  comin'  Sad'day, 

Dey  '11  be  brighter  days  in  life ; 
An'  I    '11  be  ez  glad  ez  Sam'l 

W'en  I  go  to  see  my  wife. 


BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON 


What    is    the    passing    breath    of 

earthly  fame? 
But  to  snatch  glory  from  the  hands 

of  .blame  — 

That  is  to  be,  to  live,  to  strive  in- 
deed. 
A  poor  Virginia  cabin   gave  the 

seed, 
And  from  its  dark  and  lowly  door 

there  came 
A  peer  of  princes  in  the  world's 

acclaim, 
A  master  spirit  for  the   nation's 

need. 
Strong,   silent,   purposeful   beyond 

his  kind, 
The  mark  of  rugged  force  on 

brow  and  lip, 
Straight  on  he  goes,  nor  turns  to 

look  behind 
Where    hot    the    hounds    come 

baying  at  his  hip; 
With    one    idea    foremost    in    his 

mind, 

Like  the  keen  prow  of  some  on- 
forging  ship. 

THE  MONK'S  WALK 

IN  this  sombre  garden  close 
What  has  come  and  passed,  who 

knows  ? 
What    red    passion,    what    white 

pain 
Haunted  this  dim  walk  in  vain? 


THE  word   is  writ  that  he  who      Underneath  the  ivied  wall, 

runs  may  read.  Where  the  silent  shadows  fall, 

[209] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Lies  the  pathway  chill  and  damp 
Where    the    world-quit    dreamers 
tramp. 

Just  across,  where  sunlight  burns, 
Smiling  at  the  mourning  ferns, 
Stand  the  roses,  side  by  side, 
Nodding  in   their  useless  pride. 

Ferns  and  roses,  who  shall  say 
What  you  witness  day  by  day  ? 
Covert  smile  or  dropping  eye, 
As  the  monks  go  pacing  by. 

Has  the  novice  come  to-day 
Here  beneath  the  wall  to  pray? 
Has  the  young  monk,  lately  chid- 
den, 
Sung  his  lyric,  sweet,  forbidden? 

Tell  me,  roses,  did  you  note 
That     pale      father's     throbbing 

throat  ? 
Did     you     hear     him     murmur, 

"Love!" 
As  he  kissed  a  faded  glove? 

Mourning  ferns,  pray  tell  me  why 
Shook  you  with  that  passing  sigh? 
Is  it  that  you  chanced  to  spy 
Something  in  the  Abbot's  eye? 

Here  no  dream,  nor  thought  of  sin, 
Where  no  worlding  enters  in; 
Here  no  longing,  no  desire, 
Heat  nor  flame  of  earthly  fire. 

Branches  waving  green  above, 
Whisper  naught  of  life  nor  love; 

[2 


Softened  winds  that  seem  a  breath, 
Perfumed,  bring  no  fear  of  death. 

Is  it  living  thus  to  live? 
Has  life  nothing  more  to  give? 
Ah,  no  more  of  smile  or  sigh  — 
Life,  the  world,  and  love,   good- 
bye. 

Gray,  and  passionless,  and  dim, 
Echoing  of  the  solemn  hymn, 
Lies  the  walk,  'twixt  fern  and  rose, 
Here  within  the  garden  close. 


LOVE-SONG 

IF  Death  should  claim  me  for  her 

own  to-day, 
And  softly  I  should  falter  from 

your  side, 
Oh,  tell  me,  loved  one,  would  my 

memory  stay, 
And  would  my  image  in  your 

heart  abide? 
Or  should  I  be  as  some  forgotten 

dream, 
That  lives  its  little  space,  then 

fades  entire? 
Should    Time    send    o'er   you    its 

relentless  stream, 
To  cool  your  heart,  and  quench 
for  aye  love's  fire? 

I  would  not  for  the  world,  love, 

give  you  pain, 
Or   ever   compass   what   would 

cause  you  grief; 
10] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And,  oh,  how  well  I  know  that 

tears  are  vain! 
But  love  is  sweet,  my  dear,  and 

life  is  brief; 
So  if  some  day  before  you  I  should 

go 
Beyond  the  sound  and  sight  of 

song  and  sea, 
}T  would  give  my  spirit  stronger 

wings  to  know 

That  you  remembered  still  and 
wept  for  me. 


SLOW    THROUGH    THE 
DARK 

SLOW    moves    the    pageant    of    a 

climbing  race; 

Their  footsteps  drag  far,  far  be- 
low the  height, 

And,  unprevailing  by  their  ut- 
most might, 
Seem    faltering    downward    from 

each  hard  won  place. 
No    strange,    swift-sprung   excep- 
tion we;  we  trace 
A  devious  way  thro'  dim,  uncer- 
tain light, — 
Our    hope,    through    the    long 

vistaed  years,  a  sight 
Of   that  our   Captain's  soul  sees 

face  to  face. 
Who,    faithless,    faltering    that 

the  road  is  steep, 

Now  raiseth  up  his  drear  insistent 
cry? 

[21 


Who  stoppeth  here  to  spend  a 

while  in  sleep 
Or  curseth  that  the  storm  obscures 

the  sky? 
Heed   not   the   darkness   round 

you,  dull  and  deep; 

The   clouds   grow   thickest   when 

the  summit 's  nigh. 


THE  MURDERED  LOVER 

SAY  a  mass  for  my  soul's  repose, 

my  brother, 
Say  a  mass  for  my  soul's  repose, 

I  need  it, 
Lovingly  lived  we,  the  sons  of  one 

mother, 

Mine  was  the  sin,  but  I  pray 
you  not  heed  it. 

Dark  were  her  eyes  as  the  sloe  and 

they  called  me, 

Called  me  with  voice  indepen- 
dent of  breath. 
God!    how    my   heart    beat;    her 

beauty  appalled  me, 
Dazed  me,  and  drew  to  the  sea- 
brink  of  death. 

Lithe  was  her  form  like  a  willow. 

She  beckoned, 
What  could  I  do  save  to  follow 

and  follow, 
Nothing  of  right  or  result  could  be 

reckoned  ; 

Life  without  her  was  unworthy 
and  hollow. 


THE   COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Ay,    but    I    wronged    thee,    my          Say  a  mass  for  my  soul,  I  need 

brother,  my  brother;  it. 

Ah,  but  I  loved  her,  thy  beauti-      Sin  of  mine  was  it,  and  sin  of  no 

ful  wife.  other, 

Shade  of  our  father,  and  soul  of 

our  mother, 

Have  I   not  paid   for  my  love 
with  my  life? 

Dark    was    the    night    when,    re- 


Mine  was  it  all,  but  I  pray  you 
not  heed  it. 


vengeful,  I  met  you, 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  a  desolate 

land. 

Warm   was   the   life-blood   which 
angrily  wet  you 


PHILOSOPHY 

I  BEEN  t'inkin'  'bout  de  preachah; 
whut  he  said  de  othah 
night, 

'Bout   hit  bein'   people's   dooty, 
f u'  to  keep  dey  faces  bright ; 


Sharp  was  the  knife  that  I  felt      How  one  ouSht  to  live  so  Peasant 
from  your  hand.  dat  ouah  temPah  never  riles, 

Meetin'  evahbody  roun'  us  wid 
Wept  you,  oh,  wept  you,  alone  by  ouah  very  nicest  smiles. 

the  river, 
When    my    stark    carcass    you      Dat  >s  a11   n'ght'   T  aln>t 

secretly  sank. 
Ha,  now  I  see  that  you  tremble 

and  shiver; 

'T  was  but  my  spirit  that  passed 
when  you  shrank! 


not  a  t'ing  dat  soun's  lak 

fac', 
But  you  don't  ketch  folks  a-grin- 

nin'    wid    a   misery    in    de 

back; 
An'  you  don't  fin*   dem  a-smilin' 

w'en  dey 's  hongry  ez  kin 

be, 
Leastways,    dat 's    how    human 

natur'  allus  seems  to  'pear 

to  me. 


Weep  not,  oh,  weep  not,  't  is  over, 

't  is  over ; 
Stir   the   dark   weeds   with   the 

turn  of  the  tide; 
Go,  thou  hast  sent  me  forth,  ever 

a  rover, 
Rest   and    the   sweet    realm   of      We  Is  mos'  a11  Putty  likely  fu'  to 

heaven  denied.  have  our  llttle  cares> 

An'  I  think  we  'se  doin'  fus'  rate 

Say  a  mass  for  my  soul's  repose,  w'en  we  jes'  go  long  and 

my  brother,  bears, 

[212] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Widout  breakin'  up  ouah  faces  in 

a  sickly  so't  o'  grin, 
W'en  we  knows  dat  in  ouah  in- 
nards we  is  p'intly  mad  ez 
sin. 

Oh  dey  's  times  fu'  bein'  pleasant 

an'  fu'  goin'  smilin'  roun', 

'Cause  I  don't  believe  in  people 

allus  totin'  roun'  a  frown, 

But  it 's  easy  'nough  to  titter  w'en 

de  stew  is  smokin'  hot, 
But  hit 's  mighty  ha'd  to  giggle 
w'en    dey 's    nuffin'    in    de 
pot. 


A  PREFERENCE 

MASTAH  drink  his  ol'  Made'a, 
Missy  drink  huh  sherry  wine, 
Ovahseah  lak  his  whiskey, 
But  dat  othah  drink  is  mine, 
Des'  'lasses  an'  watah,  'lasses 
an'  watah. 

W'en  you  git  a  steamin'  hoe-cake 

On  de  table,  go  way,  man! 
'D  ain     but  one  t'ing  to  go  wid  it, 
'Sides  de  gravy  in  de  pan, 
Dat 's  'lasses  an'  watah,  'lasses 
an'  watah. 

W'en  hit 's  'possum  dat  you  eatin', 
'Simmon  beer  is  moughty  sweet  ; 
But  fu'  evahday  consumin' 


'D  ain't  no  mo'tal  way  to  beat 
Des'  'lasses  an'  watah,  'lasses 
an'  watah. 

W'y  de  bees  is  allus  busy, 

An'  ain'  got  no  time  to  was'? 

Hit 's  beca'se  dey  knows  de  honey 

Dey  's  a  makin',  gwine  to  tas' 

Lak  'lasses  an'  watah,  'lasses 

watah. 


an 


Oh, 


mil' 


an' 


hit 's     moughty 

soothin', 

An'  hit  don'  go  to  yo'  haid; 
Dat 's  de  reason  I 's  a-backin' 
Up  de  othah  wo'ds  I  said, 
"  Des  'lasses  an'  watah,  'lasses 
an'  watah." 


THE  DEBT 

THIS  is  the  debt  I  pay 
Just  for  one  riotous  day, 
Years  of  regret  and  grief, 
Sorrow  without  relief. 

Pay  it  I  will  to  the  end  — 
Until  the  grave,  my  friend, 
Gives  me  a  true  release  — 
Gives  me  the  clasp  of  peace. 

Slight  was  the  thing  I  bought, 
Small  was  the  debt  I  thought, 
Poor  was  the  loan  at  best  — 
God!  but  the  interest! 


[213] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

ON  THE  DEDICATION  OF     To  labor  bravely,  nobly,  and  be 
DOROTHY  HALL  glad. 


TUSKEGEE,   ALA.,   APRIL  22,    I9OI.  QjJ   gjve  tQ  fa^  w{t^{n  ^  tCm- 

NOT  to  the  midnight  of  the  gloomy  pie  here, 

past,  Clear  vision  of  the  dignity  of 

Do  we  revert  to-day;  we  look  toil, 

upon  That  virtue  in  them  may  its  blos- 

The  golden  present  and  the  future  soms  rear 

vast  Unspotted,   fragrant,    from   the 

Whose  vistas  show  us  visions  of  lowly  soil. 
the  dawn. 

God  bless  the  givers  for  their  noble 

Nor  shall  the  sorrows  of  departed  deed, 

years  Shine  on  them  with  the  mercy 

The  sweetness  of  our  tranquil  of  Th^  face» 

souls  annoy,  Who   come   with   °Pen   hearts   to 

The  sunshine  of  our  hopes  dispels  hel?  .and  sPeed 

the  tears  striving  women  of  a  strug- 

And  clears  our  eyes  to  see  this  glmS  race* 
later  joy. 

Not  ever  in  the  years  that  God  A  R°ADWAY 

hath  given  LET  those  wjjO  wjll  strlde  on  thejr 

Have  we  gone  friendless  down  barren  roads 

the  thorny  way,  And  prick  themselves  to  haste  with 

Always    the    clouds    of    pregnant  self-made  goads, 

black  were  riven  Unheeding,   as  they  struggle  day 

By  flashes  from  His  own  eternal  by  ^ay, 

day-  If  flowers  be  sweet  or  skies  be  blue 

or  gray: 

The  women  of  a  race  should  be  its  For  me,  the  lone,  cool  way  by  purl- 

pride;  ing  brooks, 

We  glory  in  the  strength  our  The  solemn  quiet  of  the  woodland 

mothers  had,  nooks, 

We  glory  that  this  strength  was  A    song-bird    somewhere    trilling 

not  denied  sadly  gay, 

[214] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


A  pause  to  pick  a  flower  beside  the 
way. 

BY  RUGGED  WAYS 

BY    rugged   ways    and    thro'    the 

night 
We  struggle   blindly  toward   the 

light; 

And  groping,  stumbling,  ever  pray 
For  sight  of  long  delaying  day. 
The  cruel  thorns  beside  the  road 
Stretch  eager  points  our  steps  to 

goad, 

And  from  the  thickets  all  about 
Detaining  hands  reach  threatening 

out. 

"  Deliver  us,  oh,  Lord,"  we  cry, 
Our  hands  uplifted  to  the  sky. 
No  answer  save  the  thunder's  peal, 
And  onward,  onward,  still  we  reel. 
"  Oh,    give   us   now   thy   guiding 

light;" 
Our    sole    reply,    the    lightning's 

blight. 
"  Vain,  vain,"  cries  one,  "  in  vain 

we  call;" 
But  faith  serene  is  over  all. 

Beside   our  way  the  streams  are 

dried, 

And  famine  mates  us  side  by  side. 
Discouraged  and  reproachful  eyes 
Seek  once  again  the  frowning  skies. 
Yet  shall  there  come,  spite  storm 

and  shock, 
A  Moses  who  shall  smite  the  rock, 

O 


Call  manna  from  the  Giver's  hand, 
And  lead  us  to  the  promised  landl 

The   way   is   dark   and   cold   and 

steep, 

And  shapes  of  horror  murder  sleep, 
And  hard  the  unrelenting  years  ; 
But   'twixt  our  sighs  and  moans 

and  tears, 
We  still  can  smile,  we  still  can 

sing, 

Despite  the  arduous  journeying. 
For  faith  and  hope  their  courage 

lend, 
And  rest  and  light  are  at  the  end. 


LOVE'S  SEASONS 

WHEN  the  bees  are  humming  in 

the  honeysuckle  vine 
And   the   summer   days   are   in 

their  bloom, 
Then    my    love    is    deepest,    oh, 

dearest  heart  of  mine, 
When  the  bees  are  humming  in  the 

honeysuckle   vine. 

When  the  winds  are  moaning  o'er 

the  meadows  chill  and  gray, 
And  the  land  is  dim  with  winter 

gloom, 
Then  for  thee,  my  darling,  love 

will  have  its  way, 
When  the  winds  are  moaning  o'er 

the  meadows  chill  and  gray. 

In  the  vernal  dawning  with  the 
starting  of  the  leaf, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


In  the  merry-chanting  time  of 

spring, 
Love  steals  all  my  senses,  oh,  the 

happy-hearted   thief! 
In  the  vernal  morning  with  the 

starting  of  the  leaf. 

Always,  ever  always,  even  in  the 

autumn  drear, 

When  the  days  are  sighing  out 
their  grief, 

Thou  art  still  my  darling,  dear- 
est of  the  dear, 

Always,  ever  always,  even  in  the 
autumn  drear. 


TO  A  DEAD  FRIEND 

IT  is  as  if  a  silver  chord 

Were  suddenly  grown  mute, 

And   life's  song  with  its  rhythm 

warred 
Against  a  silver  lute. 

It  is  as  if  a  silence  fell 

Where  bides  the  garnered  sheaf, 
And  voices  murmuring,  "  It  is 
well," 

Are  stifled  by  our  grief. 

It  is  as  if  the  gloom  of  night 
Had  hid  a  summer's  day, 

And    willows,    sighing    at    their 

plight, 
Bent  low  beside  the  way. 


For  he  was  part  of  all  the  best 
That  Nature  loves  and  gives, 


[21 


And  ever  more  on  Memory's  breast 
He  lies  and  laughs  and  lives. 


TO  THE  SOUTH 

ON    ITS    NEW    SLAVERY 

HEART  of  the  Southland,  heed  me 

pleading  now, 
Who    bearest,    unashamed,    upon 

my  brow 
The  long  kiss  of  the  loving  tropic 

sun, 
And  yet,  whose  veins  with  thy  red 

current  run. 

Borne  on  the  bitter  winds  from 
every  hand, 

Strange  tales  are  flying  over  all  the 
land, 

And  Condemnation,  with  his  pin- 
ions foul, 

Glooms  in  the  place  where  broods 
the  midnight  owl. 

What  art  thou,  that  the  world 
should  point  at  thee, 

And  vaunt  and  chide  the  weakness 
that  they  see  ? 

There  was  a  time  they  were  not 
wont  to  chide; 

Where  is  thy  old,  uncompromis- 
ing pride? 

Blood-washed,  thou  shouldst  lift 
up  thine  honored  head, 

White  with  the  sorrow  for  thy 
loyal  dead 

6] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

Who  lie  on  every  plain,  on  every  For  those  who  loved  thee  and  thy 

hill,  children  so. 

And  whose  high  spirit  walks  the 

Southland  still:  Thou   must   arise   forthwith,   and 

strong,  thou  must 

Whose  infancy  our  mother's  hands  Throw  off  the  smirching  of  this 

have  nursed.  baser  dust, 

Thy  manhood,  gone  to  battle  un-  Lay  by  the  practice  of  this  later 

accursed,  creed, 

Our    fathers    left   to    till    th'    re-  And    be    thine   honest    self    again 

luctant  field,  indeed. 

To    rape    the    soil    for    what    she 

would  not  yield ;  There  was  a  time  when  even  slav- 
ery's chain 

Wooing  for  aye,  the  cold  unam'-  Held    in    some   joys   to    alternate 

rous  sod,  with  pain, 

Whose     growth     for     them     still  Some  little  light  to  give  the  night 

meant  a  master's  rod;  relief, 

Tearing  her  bosom  for  the  wealth  Some  little  smiles  to  take  the  place 

that  gave  of  grief. 

The  strength  that  made  the  toiler 

still  a  slave.  There  was  a  time  when,  jocund 

as  the  day, 

Too  long  we  hear  the  deep  im-  The  toiler  hoed  his  row  and  sung 

passioned  cry  his  lay, 

That  echoes  vainly  to  the  heedless  Found   something   gleeful   in    the 

sky;  very  air, 

Too   long,    too   long,   the   Mace-  And  solace  for  his  toiling  every- 

donian  call  where. 
Falls  fainting  far  beyond  the  out- 
ward wall,  Now   all   is  changed,   within   the 

rude  stockade, 

Within  whose  sweep,  beneath  the  A  bondsman  whom  the  greed  of 

shadowing  trees,  men  has  made 

A    slumbering    nation    takes    its  Almost  too  brutish  to  deplore  his 

dangerous  ease ;  plight, 

Too  long  the  rumors  of  thy  hatred  Toils    hopeless    on    from    joyless 

go  morn  till  night. 

[217] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

For  him  no  more  the  cabin's  quiet  Is  it  for  this  we  all  have  felt  the 

rest,  flame, — 

The  homely  joys  that  gave  to  labor  This    newer    bondage    and    this 

zest;  deeper  shame? 

No  more  for  him  the  merry  banjo's  Nay,  not  for  this,  a  nation's  heroes 

sound,  bled, 

Nor  trip  of  lightsome  dances  foot-  And  North  and  South  with  tears 

ing  round.  beheld  their  dead. 

For  him  no  more  the  lamp  shall  Oh,  Mother  South,  hast  thou  for- 

glow  at  eve,  got  thy  ways, 

Nor  chubby  children  pluck  him  by  Forgot  the  glory  of  thine  ancient 

the  sleeve;  days, 

No  more  for  him  the  master's  eyes  Forgot  the  honor  that  once  made 

be  bright,—  thee  great, 

He  has  nor  freedom's  nor  a  slave's  And  stooped   to  this  unhallowed 

delight.  estate  ? 

What,  was  it  all  ibr  naught,  those  It    cannot    last,    thou   wilt    come 

awful  years  forth  in  might, 

That    drenched    a    groaning   land  A  warrior  queen  full  armored  for 

with  blood  and  tears?  the  fight; 

Was  it  to  leave  this  sly  convenient  And  thou  wilt  take,  e'en  with  thy 

hell,  spear  in  rest, 

That    brother    fighting    his    own  Thy  dusky  children  to  thy  saving 

brother  fell?  breast. 

When  that  great  struggle  held  the  Till  then,  no  more,  no  more  the 

world  in  awe,  gladsome  song, 

And  all  the  nations  blanched  at  Strike    only    deeper    chords,    the 

what  they  saw,  notes  of  wrong; 

Did    Sanctioned    Slavery   bow   its  Till  then,  the  sigh,  the  tear,  the 

conquered  head  oath,  the  moan, 

That     this     unsanctioned     crime  Till   thou,   oh,   South,   and  thine, 

might  rise  instead?  come  to  thine  own. 


[218] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


THE  HAUNTED  OAK  And  what  is  the  spur  that  keeps 

the  pace, 
PRAY  why  are  you  so  bare,  so  bare,         mat  .g  the  galHng  goad? 

Oh,  bough  of  the  old  oak-tree; 

And  why,  when  I  go  through  the     And  now  they  beat  at  the  prison 
shade  you  throw,  door, 

"  Ho,  keeper,  do  not  stay ! 
We  are  friends  of  him  whom  you 
hold  within, 


Runs  a  shudder  over  me? 


My  leaves  were  green  as  the  best, 

I  trow, 

And  sap  ran  free  in  my  veins, 
But  I  saw  in  the  moonlight  dim 

and  weird 
A  guiltless  victim's  pains. 

I  bent  me  down  to  hear  his  sigh ; 

I  shook  with  his  gurgling  moan, 
And  I  trembled  sore  when  they 
rode  away, 

And  left  him  here  alone. 


And  we   fain   would   take  him 
away 

"  From  those  who  ride  fast  on  our 

heels 

With  mind  to  do  him  wrong; 
They  have  no  care  for  his  inno- 
cence, 

And     the    rope    they    bear    is 
long." 


They  d  charged  him  with  the  old, 

old  crime, 

And  set  him  fast  in  jail: 
Oh,  why  does  the  dog  howl  all     The 

nightlong 

And  why  does  the  night  wind 
wail? 


They  have  fooled  the  jailer  with 

lying  words, 
They  have  fooled  th 


unbar,    the    locks    ai 
drawn, 
And  the  great  door  open  flies. 


He  prayed  his  prayer  and  he  swore     Now  thev  have  taken  him  from 
his  oath,  the  J*all> 

And  he  raised  his  hand  to  the         And  hard  and  fast  thev  n'de» 
gky.  And  the  leader  laughs  low  down 

But  the  beat  of  hoofs  smote  on  his  in  hl's  throat> 

ear, 

And  the  steady  tread  drew  nigh. 

Oh,  the  judge,  he  wore  a  mask  of 
Who  is  it  rides  by  night,  by  night,  black, 

Over  the  moonlit  road?  And  the  doctor  one  of  white, 

[219] 


As  they  halt  my  trunk  beside. 


son, 
Was  curiously  bedight. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

And  the  minister,  with  his  oldest  WELTSCHMERTZ 

You  ask  why  I  am  sad  to-day, 
I  have  no  cares,  no  griefs,  you  say? 
Oh,   foolish  man,  why  weep  you      Ah,    yes,    't  is    true,    I    have    no 

now? 

'Tis  but  a  little  space, 
And  the  time  will  come  when  these 

shall  dread 
The  mem'ry  of  your  face. 


grief  — 

But  — is    there    not    the    falling 
leaf? 


The  bare  tree  there  is  mourning 

left 
With  all  of  autumn's  gray  bereft; 


I  feel  the  rope  against  my  bark,  to.^  ^ 

And  the  weight  of  him  in  my  It  is  not  what  has  happened  me, 

grain,  Think  of  the  bare,  dismantled  tree. 
I  feel  in  the  throe  of  his  final  woe 

The  touch  of  my  own  last  pain.  The  birds  go  South  along  the  sky, 

I  hear  their  lingering,  long  good- 

And  never  more  shall  leaves  come  bye. 

forth  Who    goes    reluctant     from    my 

On  a  bough  that  bears  the  ban;  breast? 

I   am   burned   with   dread,   I   am  And    yet  —  the    lone    and    wind- 
dried  and  dead,  swept  nest. 
From   the   curse   of   a  guiltless 

man.  The      mourning,       pale-flowered 

hearse  goes  by, 

And  ever  the  judge  rides  by,  rides  Why  does  a  tear  come  to  my  eye? 

by,  Is    it    the    March    rain    blowing 

And  goes  to  hunt  the  deer,  wild  ? 

And  ever  another  rides  his  soul  I  have  no  dead,  I  know  no  child. 
In  the  guise  of  a  mortal  fear. 

I  am  no  widow  by  the  bier 

And   ever   the   man   he   rides   me  Of  him  I  held  supremely  dear, 

hard,  I  have  not  seen  the  choicest  one 

And  never  a  night  stays  he;  Sink  down  as  sinks  the  westering 

For  I  feel  his  curse  as  a  haunted  sun. 
bough, 

On  the  trunk  of  a  haunted  tree.      Falth  unto  faith  have  I  beheld> 

For   me,    few   solemn   notes   have 

swelled  ; 
[220] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Love  bekoned  me  out  to  the  dawn, 
And  happily  I  followed  on. 

And  yet  my  heart  goes  out  to 
them 

Whose  sorrow  is  their  diadem; 

The  falling  leaf,  the  crying  bird, 

The  voice  to  be,  all  lost,  un- 
heard — 

Not  mine,  not  mine,  and  yet  too 

much 
The  thrilling  power  of  human 

touch, 
While  all  the  world  looks  on  and 


Where    calm-eyed    Pallas    with 

still  footstep  roves, 
And  charge  thee  seek  the  turmoil 

of  the  state? 
What  bade  thee  hear  the  voice  and 

rise  elate, 
Leave   home    and   kindred    and 

thy  spicy  loaves, 
To  lead  th'  unlettered  and  de- 
spised droves 

To  manhood's  home  and  thunder 
at  the  gate? 

Far  better  the  slow  blaze  of  Learn- 


scorns 
I  wear  another's  crown  of  thorns. 


ing's  light, 
The  cool  and  quiet  of  her  dearer 

fane, 
Count   me   a   priest   who   under-     Than  this  hot  terror  of  a  hopeless 

stands  fight> 

The  glorious  pain  of  nail-pierced         This  cold  endurance  of  the  final 

hands;  Paln~ 

Count  me  a  comrade  of  the  thief      Since   th°u   and   those  who   with 
Hot  driven  into  late  belief.  thee  died  for  right 

Have  died,  the  Present  teaches, 
Oh,  mother's  tear,  oh,  father's  sigh,  but  jn  yam  j 

Oh,    mourning    sweetheart's    last 

good-bye, 
I   yet   have  known   no   mourning  ROSES 

save 

Beside    some    brother's    brother's      OH,  wind  of  the  spring-time,  oh, 
grave.  free  wind  of  May, 

When    blossoms    and   bird-song 

are  rife; 
Oh,  joy  for  the  season,  and  joy  for 

the  day, 
That  gave  me  the  roses  of  life, 

of  life, 
That  gave  me  the  roses  of  life. 


ROBERT  GOULD  SHAW 

WHY    was    it    that    the    thunder 

voice  of  Fate 

Should  call  thee,  studious,  from 
the  classic  groves, 


[221] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Oh,   wind   of   the   summer,    sing     All  of  the  love  of  my  soul  will  I 

loud  in  the  night,  bring  to  thee, 

When  flutters  my  heart  like  a     All  of  the  pains  of  my  being  shall 

dove;  wring  to  thee, 

One  came  from  thy  kingdom,  thy      Deep  and  forever  the  song  of  my 

realm  of  delight,  loving  shall  sing  to  thee, 

And  gave  me  the  roses  of  love,      Ever  and  ever  thro'  day  and  thro' 

of  love,  night  shall  I  cling  to  thee. 

And  gave  me  the  roses  of  love.      Hearest  thou  the  answer? 

Darling,  I  come,  I  come. 
Oh,  wind  of  the  winter,  sigh  low 

in  thy  grief, 

I  hear  thy  compassionate  breath ; 
I  wither,  I  fall,  like  the  autumn- 
kissed  leaf, 
He  gave  me  the  roses  of  death, 


ITCHING  HEELS 
Fu'  de  peace  o'  my  eachin'  heels, 


set  down; 

of  death,  Don'  fiddle  dat  chune  no  mo'. 

He  gave  me  the  roses  of  death.     Don'  you  see  how  dat  melody  stuhs 

me  up 

An'  baigs  me  to  tek  to  de  flo'? 
You  knows  I 's  a  Christian,  good 

an'  strong; 

AH,  love,  my  love  is  like  a  cry  in          I  wusship  f'om  June  to  June; 
the  night,  My  pra'ahs  dey  ah  loud  an'  my 

hymns  ah  long: 


A  LOVE  SONG 


A  long,  loud  cry  to  the  empty  sky, 
The  cry  of  a  man  alone  in  the 

desert, 
With  hands  uplifted,  with  parch-      [  's  a  cn'ck  in 

ing  lips, 


I  baig  you  don'  fiddle  dat  chune. 

back  an'  a  mis- 
ery ' 


Oh,  rescue  me,  rescue  me, 
Thy  form  to  mine  arms, 
The  dew  of  thy  lips  to  my  mouth, 
Dost    thou    hear    me  ? —  my    call 
thro'  the  night? 


Darling,  I  hear  thee  and  answer, 
Tfty  fountain  am  I, 


Whaih  de  j'ints  's  gittin'  oP  an' 

stiff, 
But  hit  seems  lak  you  brings  me 

de  bref  o'  my  youf  ; 
W'y,    I 's   suttain    I   noticed   a 

w'iff. 
Don'  fiddle  dat  chune  no  mo',  my 

chile, 
Don'  fiddle  dat  chune  no  mo' ; 


[222] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


I  '11  git  up  an*  taih  up  dis  groun'      Our  fingers  clasped,  and  dragging 

me  a  pace, 
You  struggled  up. 
It  is  a  bitter  Cup, 
That  now   for  naught,  you   turn 
away  your  face. 

I  shall  remember  this  for  aye  and 

aye. 

Whatever  may  come, 
Although  my  lips  are  dumb, 
My  spirit  holds  you  to  that  yester- 
day. 


fu'  a  mile, 

An'  den  1 11  be  chu'ched  fu'  it, 
sho'. 

Oh,  fiddle  dat  chune  some  mo',  I 

say, 

An'  fiddle  it  loud  an'  fas': 
I 's  a  youngstah  ergin  in  de  mi'st 

o'  my  sin; 
De  p'esent  's  gone  back  to  de 

pas'. 

I  '11  dance  to  dat  chune,  so  des  fid- 
dle erway; 
I    knows    how    de    backslidah 

feels; 
So  fiddle  it  on  'twell  de  break  o' 

T,  ,  *        .       ,  .  .  ,  ,     .  Are  dole  and  grief  to-day, 

Fu   de  sake  o  my  eachm   heels.      •»-,       ,     a  f    „    ,     T    .. 

For  the  flower  of  all  the  Indies 

Has  gone  the  silent  way. 

TO  AN  INGRATE  In  the  tents  of  Akbar 

Are  emptiness  and  gloom, 
THIS  is  to-day,  a  golden  summer's     And  where  the  dancers  gather, 

day  The  silence  of  the  tomb. 

And  yet  —  and  yet 

My  vengeful  soul  will  not  for-  Across  the  yellow  desert, 

get  Across  the  burning  sands, 

The  past,  forever  now  forgot,  you  Old  Akbar  wanders  madly, 

say.  And  wrings  his  fevered  hands. 


IN  THE  TENTS  OF  AKBAR 
IN  the  tents  of  Akbar 


And  ever  makes  his  moaning 
To  the  unanswering  sky, 

For  Sutna,  lovely  Sutna, 
Who  was  so  fair  to  die. 


From  that  half  height  where  I  had 

sadly  climbed, 
I  stretched  my  hand, 
I  lone  in  all  that  land, 
Down  there,  where,  helpless,  you     For  Sutna  danced  at  morning, 
were  limed.  And  Sutna  danced  at  eve; 

[223] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Her  dusky  eyes  half  hidden 
Behind  her  silken  sleeve. 

Her  pearly  teeth  out-glancing 

Between  her  coral  lips, 
The  tremulous  rhythm  of  passion 

Marked  by  her  quivering  hips. 

As  lovely  as  a  jewel 

Of  fire  and  dewdrop  blent, 
So  danced  the  maiden  Sutna 

In  gallant  Akbar's  tent. 

And  one  who  saw  her  dancing, 
Saw  her  bosom's  fall  and  rise 

Put  all  his  body's  yearning 
Into  his  lovelit  eyes. 

Then     Akbar    came    and     drove 
him  — 

A  jackal  —  from   his   door, 
And  bade  him  wander  far  and  look 

On  Sutna's  face  no  more. 

Some  day  the  sea  disgorges, 
The  wilderness  gives  back, 

Those   half-dead   who  have  wan- 
dered, 
Aimless,  across  its  track. 

And  he  returned  —  the  lover, 
Haggard  of  brow  and  spent; 

He  found  fair  Sutna  standing 
Before  her  master's  tent. 

"  Not  mine,  nor  Akbar's,  Sutna!  " 
He  cried  and  closely  pressed, 

And  drove  his  craven  dagger 
Straight  to  the  maiden's  breast. 


Oh,  weep,  oh,  weep,  for  Sutna, 
So  young,  so  dear,  so  fair, 

Her  face  is  gray  and  silent 
Beneath  her  dusky  hair. 

And  wail,  oh,  wail,  for  Akbar, 
Who  walks  the  desert  sands, 

Crying  aloud  for  Sutna, 

Wringing  his  fevered  hands. 

In  the  tents  of  Akbar 
The  tears  of  sorrow  run, 

But  the  corpse  of  Sutna's  slayer, 
Lies  rotting  in  the  sun. 

THE  FOUNT  OF  TEARS 

ALL  hot  and  grimy  from  the  road, 
Dust  gray  from  arduous  years, 

I  sat  me  down  and  eased  my  load 
Beside  the  Fount  of  Tears. 

The  waters  sparkled  to  my  eye, 
Calm,  crystal-like,  and  cool, 

And  breathing  there  a  restful  sigh, 
I  bent  me  to  the  pool. 

When,  lo !  a  voice  cried :  "  Pilgrim, 
rise, 

Harsh  tho'  the  sentence  be, 
And  on  to  other  lands  and  skies  — 

This  fount  is  not  for  thee. 

"  Pass  on,  but  calm  thy  needless 

fears, 

Some  may  not  love  or  sin, 
An    angel    guards    the    Fount    of 

Tears ; 
All  may  not  bathe  therein." 


[224] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Then  with  my  burden  on  my  back     This,  this  it  is  to  be  accursed  in- 

I  turned  to  gaze  awhile,  deed; 

First  at  the  uninviting  track,  For  if  we  mortals  love,  or  if  we 

sing, 

We   count   our   joys   not   by   the 
things  we  have, 


Then  at  the  water's  smile. 


And  so  I  go  upon  my  way, 
Thro 'out  the  sultry  years, 

But  pause  no  more,  by  night,  by 

day, 
Beside  the  Fount  of  Tears. 


But  by  what  kept  us  from  the 
perfect  thing. 

DE  WAY  T'INGS  COME 

DE  way  t'ings  come,  hit  seems  to 
LIFE'S  TRAGEDY  me, 

Is  des'  one  monst'ous  mystery; 
IT  may  be  misery  not  to  sing  at  all      De  way  h{t  seem  tQ  strike  a 

And   to   go   silent   through   the      Dey  aiVt  no  sensCj   dey 

brimming  day.  plan; 

It    may    be    sorrow    never    to    be      Ef  trouW'e  sta>ts  a  pIHn, 

'  It  ain't  no  use  to  rage  er  frown, 

But    deeper    griefs    than    these      Jt  ain't  no  use  to  strive  er  pray, 
beset  the  way.  Hit  >s  mortal 


t(> 


wav» 


To  have   come   near  to   sing   the 

perfect  song  Now,  ef  you  's  hongry,  an'  yo'  plate 

And   only   by    a   half-tone   lost  Des'     keep     on     sayin'     to     you, 

the  key,  «  Wait," 

There  is  the  potent  sorrow,  there  Don't  mek  no  diffunce  how  you 

the  grief,  feel, 

The  pale,  sad  staring  of  life's  'T  won't   do  no  good   to  hunt  a 
tragedy.  meal, 

Fu'  dat  ah  meal  des'  boun'  to  hide 

To  have  just  missed  the  perfect  Ontwell  de  devil  ,g  sat;sfie(J) 


love, 
Not  the  hot  passion  of  untem- 


An'    'twell   dey 's   some'p'n  by  to 


cyave 
You  's  got  to  ease  yo'se'f  an'  sta've. 


pered  youth, 
But  that  which  lays  aside  its  vanity 

And  gives  thee,  for  thy  trusting      But  ef  dey  Js  co'n  meal  on  de  she'f 
worship,  truth  — -  You  need  n't  bothah  'roun'  yo'se'f, 

[225] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Somebody  's  boun'  to  amble  in 
An'  Vite  you  to  dey  co'n  meal  bin ; 
An'  ef  you  's  stuffed  up  to  be  froat 
Wid    co'n    er    middlin',    fowl    er 

shoat, 
Des'  look  out  an'  you  '11  see  fu' 

sho 
A  'possum  faint  befo'  yo'  do'. 

De    way    t'ings    happen,    huhuh, 

chile, 
Dis  worl'  's  done  puzzled  me  one 

w'ile  ; 
I 's   mighty   skeered    1 11    fall   in 

doubt, 

I  des'  won't  try  to  reason  out 
De    reason   why    folks   strive    an' 

plan 

A  dinnah  fu'  a  full-fed  man, 
An'  shet  de  do'  an'  cross  de  street 
F'om  one  dat  raaly  needs  to  eat. 


Shet  yo'  mouf,  you  rascal, 
Wha'  's  de  use  to  cry  ? 
You  do'  see  no  rain  clouds 
Up  dah  in  de  sky. 

Dis  hyeah  sweat 's  been  po'in' 
Down  my  face  sence  dawn; 
Ain't  hit  time  we 's  hyeahin' 
Dat  ah  dinnah  ho'n? 
Go  on,  Ben  an'  Jaspah, 
Lif  yo'  feet  an'  fly, 
Hit  out  fu'  de  shadder 
Fo'  I  drap  an'  die. 

Hongry,  lawd  a5  mussy, 
Hongry  as  a  baih, 
Seems  lak  I  hyeah  dinnah 
Callin'  evahwhaih; 
Daih  's  de  ho'n  a  blowin' ! 
Let  dat  cradle  swing, 
One  mo'  sweep,  den  da'kies, 
Beat  me  to  de  spring! 


NOON 

SHADDER  in  de  valley 
Sunlight  on  de  hill, 
Sut'ny  wish  dat  locus' 
Knowed  how  to  be  still. 
Don't  de  heat  already 
Mek  a  body  hum, 
'Dout  dat  insec'  savin' 
Hottah  days  to  come? 

Fiel'  's  a  shinin'  yaller 
Wid  de  bendin'  grain, 
Guinea  hen  a  callin', 
Now  's  de  time  f u'  rain ; 


[226] 


AT  THE  TAVERN 

A  LILT  and  a  swing, 
And  a  ditty  to  sing, 
Or  ever  the  night  grow  old; 
The  wine  is  within, 
And  I  'm  sure  't  were  a  sin 
For  a  soldier  to  choose  to  be  cold, 

my  dear, 
For  a  soldier  to  choose  to  be  cold. 

We  're  right  for  a  spell, 
But  the  fever  is  —  well, 
No  thing  to  be  braved,  at  least ; 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


So  bring  me  the  wine; 
No  low  fever  in  mine, 
For  a  drink  is  more  kind  than  a 

priest,  my  dear, 

For  a  drink  is  more  kind  than  a 
priest. 

DEATH 

STORM  and  strife  and  stress, 
Lost  in  a  wilderness, 
Groping  to  find  a  way, 
Forth  to  the  haunts  of  day 

Sudden  a  vista  peeps, 
Out  of  the  tangled  deeps, 
Only  a  point  —  the  ray 
But  at  the  end  is  day. 

Dark  is  the  dawn  and  chill, 
Daylight  is  on  the  hill, 
Night  is  the  flitting  breath, 
Day  rides  the  hills  of  death. 


NIGHT,  DIM  NIGHT 

Night,  dim  night,  and  it  rains,  my 

love,  it  rains, 
(Art  thou   dreaming  of  me,   I 

wonder) 
The  trees  are  sad,  and  the  wind 

complains, 

Outside  the  rolling  of  the  thun- 
der, 
And  the  beat  against  the  panes. 

Heart,  my  heart,  thou  art  mourn- 
ful in  the  rain, 

(Are     thy     redolent     lips     a- 
quiver?) 

My  soul  seeks  thine,  doth  it  seek 

in  vain? 

My   love   goes   surging   like    a 
river, 

Shall    its    tide   bear   naught    save 
pain? 


[227] 


LYRICS  OF  LOVE  AND  SORROW 


LOVE  is  the  light  of  the  world,  my 

dear, 
Heigho,     but     the     world     is 

gloomy ; 
The  light  has  failed  and  the  lamp 

down  hurled, 
Leaves  only  darkness  to  me. 

Love  is  the  light  of  the  world,  my 

dear, 

Ah  me,  but  the  world  is  dreary; 
The  night  is  down,  and  my  curtain 

furled 

But    I     cannot    sleep,     though 
weary. 

Love  is  the  light  of  the  world,  my 

dear, 

Alas  for  a  hopeless  hoping, 
When  the  flame  went  out  in  the 

breeze  that  swirled, 
And  a  soul  went  blindly  grop- 
ing. 

II 

THE    light    was    on    the    golden 
sands, 

A  glimmer  on  the  sea; 
My  soul  spoke  clearly  to  thy  soul, 

Thy  spirit   answered  me. 

Since  then  the  light  that  gilds  the 

sands, 
And  glimmers  on  the  sea, 

[23 


But  vainly  struggles  to  reflect 
The  radiant  soul  of  thee. 

in 

THE  sea  speaks  to  me  of  you 

All  the  day  long; 
Still  as  I  sit  by  its  side 

You  are  its  song. 

The  sea  sings  to  me  of  you 

Loud  on  the  reef ; 
Always  it  moans  as  it  sings, 

Voicing  my  grief. 

IV 

MY  dear  love  died  last  night; 

Shall  I  clothe  her  in  white? 
My  passionate  love  is  dead, 

Shall  I  robe  her  in  red? 
But  nay,  she  was  all  untrue, 

She  shall  not  go  drest  in  blue; 
Still  my  desolate  love  was  brave, 

Unrobed  let  her  go  to  her  grave. 


THERE    are    brilliant    heights    of 

sorrow 

That  only  the  few  may  know ; 
And  the  lesser  woes  of  the  world, 

like  waves, 

Break  noiselessly,  far  below. 
I  hold  for  my  own  possessing, 

A  mount  that  is  lone  and  still  — 
The  great  high  place  of  a  hopeless 
grief, 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

And  I  call  it  my  "  Heart-break  Only  two  shades  of  a  thfng  that 

Hil1-"  died, 

And  once  on  a  winter's  midnight  Once  in  the  long  ago. 

I  found  its  highest  crown,  So  I  sit  me  down  in  the  silence, 

And  there  in  the  gloom,  my  soul  And  say  to  my  soul,  "  Be  still," 

anc*  **  So  the  world  may  not  know  we 

Weeping,  we  sat  us  down.  died  that  night, 

p  ,              ,  From  weeping  on  "  Heart-break 

.But  now  when  I  seek  that  summit  jjm  " 
We  are  two  ghosts  that  go; 


[232] 


LYRICS  OF  SUNSHINE  AND  SHADOW 


A  BOY'S  SUMMER  SONG 

'Tis  fine  to  play 

In  the  fragrant  hay, 
And  romp  on  the  golden  load; 

To  ride  old  Jack 

To  the  barn  and  back, 
Or  tramp  by  a  shady  road. 

To  pause  and  drink, 

At  a  mossy  brink; 
Ah,  that  is  the  best  of  joy, 

And  so  I  say 

On  a  summer's  day, 
What's  so   fine   as  being   a  boy? 
Ha,  Ha! 

With  line  and  hook 

By  a  babbling  brook, 
The  fisherman's  sport  we  ply; 

And  list  the  song 

Of  the  feathered  throng 
That  flit  in  the  branches  nigh. 

At  last  we  strip 

For  a  quiet  dip; 
Ah,  that  is  the  best  of  joy. 

For  this  I  say 

On  a  summer's  day, 
What's  so   fine   as  being  a  boy? 
Ha,  Ha! 


THE  SAND-MAN 

I  KNOW  a  man 
With  face  of  tan, 
But  who  is  ever  kind; 


Whom  girls  and  boys 
Leaves  games  and  toys 
Each  eventide  to  find. 

When  day  grows  dim, 
They  watch  for  him, 

He  comes  to  place  his  claim; 
He  wears  the  crown 
Of  Dreaming-town ; 

The  sand-man  is  his  name. 

When  sparkling  eyes 

Troop  sleepywise 
And  busy  lips  grow  dumb; 

When  little  heads 

Nod  toward  the  beds, 
We  know  the  sand-man's  come. 

JOHNNY  SPEAKS 

THE  sand-man  he's  a  jolly  old 
fellow, 

His  face  is  kind  and  his  voice  is 
mellow, 

But  he  makes  your  eyelids  as  heavy 
as  lead, 

And  then  you  got  to  go  off  to  bed  ; 
I  don't  think  I  like  the  sand- 
man. 


But  I've  been  playing  this  live- 
long day; 

It  does  make  a  fellow  so  tired  to 
play! 

Oh,  my,  I'm  a-yawning  right  here 
before  ma, 

[235] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


I'm  the  sleepiest  fellow  that  ever 

you  saw. 
I  think  I  do  like  the  sand-man. 

WINTER-SONG 

OH,  who  would  be  sad  tho'  the 

sky  be  a-graying, 
And  meadow  and  woodlands  are 

empty  and  bare; 
For  softly  and  merrily  now  there 

come  playing, 

The  little  white  birds  thro*  the 
winter-kissed  air. 

The   squirrel's   enjoying   the   rest 

of  the  thrifty, 
He  munches  his  store  in  the  old 

hollow  tree; 
Tho'   cold   is   the   blast   and   the 

snow-flakes  are  drifty 
He  fears  the  white  flock  not  a 
whit  more  than  we. 

Chorus: 

Then  heigho  for  the  flying  snow! 

Over  the  whitened  roads  we  go, 
With  pulses  that  tingle, 
And  sleigh-bells  a- jingle 

For  winter's  white  birds  here's  a 
cheery  heigho! 

A  CHRISTMAS  FOLKSONG 

DE  win'  is  blowin'  wahmah, 
An  hit's  blowin'  f'om  de  bay; 

Dey's  a  so't  o'  mist  a-risin' 
All  erlong  de  meddah  way; 


Dey  ain't  a  hint  o'  frostin' 

On  de  groun'  ner  in  de  sky, 
An'  dey  ain't  no  use  in  hopin' 
Dat  de  snow'll  'mence  to  fly. 
It's  goin'  to  be  a  green  Christ- 
mas, 

An'  sad  de  day  fu'  me. 

I  wish  dis  was  de  las'  one 

Dat  evah  I  should  see. 

Dey's  dancin'  in  de  cabin, 

Dey's  spahkin'  by  de  tree; 
But  dancin'  times  an'  spahkin' 

Are  all  done  pas'  fur  me. 
Dey's  feastin'  in  de  big  house, 

Wid  all  de  windahs  wide  — 
Is  dat  de  way  fu'  people 
To  meet  de  Christmas-tide? 
It's  goin'  to  be  a  green  Christ- 
mas, 

No  mattah  what  you  say. 
Dey's  us  dat  will  remembah 
An'  grieve  de  comin'  day. 

Dey's  des  a  bref  o'  dampness 

A-clingin*  to  my  cheek; 
De  aih's  been  dahk  an'  heavy 
An'  threatenin'  fu'  a  week, 
But  not  wid  signs  o'  wintah, 

Dough  wintah'd  seem  so  deah  — 
De  wintah's  out  o'  season, 
An'  Christmas  eve  is  heah. 
It's  goin'  to  be  a  green  Christ- 
mas, 

An'  oh,  how  sad  de  day ! 
Go  ax  de  hongry  chu'chya'd, 
An'  see  what  hit  will  say. 


[236] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Dey's  Allen  on  de  hillside,  But  our  triumph  call  through  the 

An'  Marfy  in  de  plain ;  forest  hall 

Fu'  Christmas  was  like  springtime,          Is  a  brother's  funeral  song. 

An'  come  wid  sun  an'  rain. 
Dey's  Ca'line,  John,  an'  Susie, 

Wid  only  dis  one  lef ' : 
An'  now  de  curse  is  comin' 
Wid  murder  in  hits  bref. 

It's  goin'  to  be  a  green  Christ- 
mas— 
Des   hyeah   my  words  an'      Yes>  brothers,  and  who  shall  judge 

see:  us? 

Befo'  de  summah  beckons  Hunters  and  game  are  we; 

Dey's    many  '11    weep    wid      But  who  Save  the  riSht  for  me  to 

smite  ? 

Who  boasts  when  he  smiteth  me  ? 


For  we  are  brothers  ever, 
Panther  and  bird  and  bear; 

Man  and  the  weakest  that  fear  his 

face, 
Born  to  the  nest  or  lair. 


me. 


THE  FOREST  GREETING 


Good  hunting!  —  aye,  good  hunt- 
ing, 

GOOD  hunting!  — aye,  good  hunt-          And  dim  is  the  forest  track> 

ing, 
Wherever  the  forests  call ; 


But   the   sportsman   Death   comes 

striding  on: 
But  ever  a  heart  beats  hot  with          Brothers,  the  way  is  black. 

fear, 
And  what  of  the  birds  that  fall  ? 

THE  LILY  OF  THE  VALLEY 
Good  hunting!  -aye,  good  hunt-      SWEETEST  of  the  flowers  a_bloon> 


Wherever     the     north     winds 
blow 


ng 


Jn  ^  fragnmt  yemal  days 

t  Is  the  Lily  of  the  Valley 

But  what  of  the  stag  that  calls  for         With  {ts  ^  redring  ways> 

his  mate? 
And  what  of  the  wounded  doe?      Well,  you  chose  this  humble  blos- 

som 

Good  hunting  !  —  aye,  good  hunt-          As  the  nurse's  emblem  flower, 
ing;  Who  grows  more  like  her  ideal 

And  ah  !  we  are  bold  and  strong  ;          Every  day  and  every  hour. 

[237] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Like  the  Lily  of  the  Valley 
In  her  honesty  and  worth, 

Ah,  she  blooms  in  truth  and  virtue 
In  the  quiet  nooks  of  earth. 

Tho'  she  stands  erect  in  honor 
When    the    heart    of    mankind 
bleeds, 

Still  she  hides  her  own  deserving 
In  the  beauty  of  her  deeds. 

In  the  silence  of  the  darkness 
Where  no  eye  may  see  and  know, 

There    her    footsteps    shod    with 

mercy, 
And  fleet  kindness  come  and  go. 

Not  amid  the  sounds  of  plaudits, 
Nor  before  the  garish  day, 

Does  she  shed  her  soul's  sweet  per- 
fume, 
Does  she  take  her  gentle  way. 

But  alike  her  ideal  flower, 
With  its  honey-laden  breath, 

Still    her   heart    blooms    forth    its 

beauty 
In  the  valley  shades  of  death. 


ENCOURAGED 

BECAUSE  you  love  me   I   have 

much  achieved, 
Had  you  despised  me  then  I  must 

have  failed, 
But  since   I   knew  you  trusted 

and  believed, 


I  could  not  disappoint  you  and  so 
prevailed. 

TO  J.  Q. 

WHAT  are  the  things  that  make 

life  bright? 

A  star  gleam  in  the  night. 
What   hearts   us   for   the   coming 

fray? 

The  dawn  tints  of  the  day. 
What   helps   to   speed    the   weary 

mile? 

A  brother's  friendly  smile. 
What   turns  o'   gold   the  evening 

gray? 
A  flower  beside  the  way. 

DIPLOMACY 

TELL  your  love  where  the  roses 

blow, 
And    the    hearts    of    the    lilies 

quiver, 

Not  in  the  city's  gleam  and  glow, 

But  down  by  a  half-sunned  river. 

Not    in    the    crowded    ball-room's 

glare, 
That    would    be    fatal,    Marie, 

Marie, 
How  can  she  answer  you  then  and 

there? 
So  come  then  and  stroll  with  me, 

my  dear, 

Down    where    the    birds    call, 
Marie,   Marie. 


[238] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


SCAMP 

AIN'T  it  nice  to  have  a  mammy 
Wen  you  kin'  o'  tiahed  out 
Wid  a-playin'  in  de  meddah, 
An'  a-runnin'  roun'  about 
Till  hit's  made  you  mighty  hongry, 

An'  yo'  nose  hit  gits  to  know 
What    de    smell    means    dat  's    a- 

comin' 

F'om  de  open  cabin  do'? 
She  wash  yo'  face, 
An'   mek  yo'   place, 
You's  hongry  as  a  tramp; 
Den    hit's   eat    you   suppah    right 

away, 
You  sta'vin'  little  scamp. 

Wen  you's  full  o'  braid  an'  bacon, 

An'  dey  ain't  no  mo'  to  eat, 
An'  de  lasses  dat's  a-stickin' 

On  yo'  face  ta'se  kin'  o'  sweet, 
Don'  you  t'ink  hit's  kin'  o'  pleasin' 

Fu'  to  have  som'body  neah 
Dat'll  wipe  yo'  ban's  an'  kiss  you 
Fo'  dey  lif'you  f'om  you'  cheah? 
To  smile  so  sweet, 
An'  wash  yo'  feet, 
An'  leave  'em  co'l  an'  damp; 
Den    hit's    come    let   me    undress 

you,  now 
You  lazy  little  scamp. 

Don'  yo'  eyes  git  awful  heavy, 
An'  yoj  lip  git  awful  slack, 

Ain't  dey  som'p'n'  kin'  o'  weak- 

nin' 
In  de  backbone  of  yo'  back? 


Don'  yo'  knees  feel  kin'  o'  trimbly, 

An'  yo'  head  go  bobbin'  roun', 

Wen  you  says  yo'  "  Now  I  lay 

me," 

An'  is  sno'in  on  de  "  down  "  ? 
She  kiss  yo'  nose, 
She  kiss  yo'  toes, 
An'  den  tu'n  out  de  lamp, 
Den  hit's  creep  into  yo'  trunnel 

baid, 
You   sleepy   little   scamp. 


WADIN'  IN  DE  CRICK 

DAYS  git  wa'm  an'  wa'mab, 

School  gits  mighty  dull, 
Seems  lak  dese  hyeah  teachahs 

Mus'  feel  mussiful. 
Hockey's  wrong,  I  know  it 

Ain't  no  gent'man's  trick; 
But  de  aih's  a-callin', 

"  Come  on  to  de  crick." 

Dah  de  watah's  gu'glin' 

Ovah  shiny  stones, 
Des  hit's  ve'y  singin' 

Seems  to  soothe  yo'  bones. 
Wat's  de  use  o'  waitin' 

Go  on  good  an'  quick: 
Dain't  no  fun  lak  dis  hyeah 

Wadin'  in  de  crick. 

Wat  dat  jay-b'ud  sayin'? 

Bettah  shet  yo'  haid, 
Fus'  t'ing  dat  you  fin'  out, 

You'll  be  layin'  daid. 


[239] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Jay-bu'ds  sich  a  tattlah, 
Des  seem  lak  his  trick 

Fu'  to  tell  on  folkses 
Wadin'  in  de  crick. 

Wilier  boughs  a-bendin' 

Hidin'  of  de  sky, 
Wavin'  kin'  o'  frien'ly 

Ez  de  win'  go  by, 
Elum  trees  a-shinin', 

Dahk  an'  green  an'  thick, 
Seem  to  say,  "  I  see  yo' 

Wadin'  in  de  crick." 

But  de  trees  don'  chattah, 

Dey  des  look  an'  sigh 
Lak  hit's  kin'  o'  peaceful 

Des  a-bein'  nigh, 
An'  yo'  t'ank  yo'  Mastah 

Dat  dey  trunks  is  thick 
W'en  yo'  mammy  fin's  you 

Wadin'  in  de  crick. 

Den  yo'  run  behin'  dem 

Lak  yo'  scaihed  to  def, 
Mammy  come  a-flyin', 

Mos'  nigh  out  o'  bref ; 
But  she  set  down  gentle 

An'  she  drap  huh  stick, — 
An'  fus'  t'ing,  dey's  mammy 

Wadin'  in  de  crick. 


THE  QUILTING 


her 


DOLLY     sits     a-quilting     by 
mother,  stich  by  stitch, 

Gracious,   how   my   pulses   throb, 
how  my  fingers  itch, 


While  I  note  her  dainty  waist  and 

her  slender  hand, 
As  she  matches  this  and  that,  she 

stitches  strand  by  strand. 
And  I   long  to  tell  her  Life's  a 

quilt  and  I'm  a  patch; 
Love  will  do  the  stitching  if  she'll 

only  be  my  match. 

PARTED 

SHE  wrapped  her  soul  in  a  lace  of 

lies, 

With  a  prime  deceit  to  pin  it; 
And   I   thought  I  was  gaining  a 

fearsome   prize, 
So  I  staked  my  soul  to  win  it. 

We  wed  and  parted  on  her  com- 
plaint, 

And  both  were  a  bit  of  barter, 
Tho'  I'll  confess  that  I'm  no  saint, 

I'll  swear  that  she's  no  martyr. 

FOREVER 

I  HAD  not  known  before 
Forever  was  so  long  a  word. 

The  slow  stroke  of  the  clock  of 

time 
I  had  not  heard. 

'Tis  hard  to  learn  so  late; 

It    seems    no    sad    heart    really 

learns, 
But  hopes  and  trusts  and  doubts 

and  fears, 
And  bleeds  and  burns. 


[240] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


The  night  is  not  all  dark, 
Nor  is  the  day  all  it  seems, 

But  each  may  bring  me  this  re- 
lief— 
My  dreams  and  dreams. 

I  had  not  known  before 

That  Never  was  so  sad  a  word, 
So  wrap  me  in  forgetfulness  — 

I  have  not  heard. 


THE   PLANTATION 
CHILD'S  LULLABY 

WINTAH  time  hit  comin' 

Stealin'  thoo  de  night ; 
Wake  up  in  the  mo'nin' 

Evah  t'ing  is  white; 
Cabin  lookin'  lonesome 

Stannin'  in  de  snow, 
Meks  you  kin'  o'  nervous, 

W'en  de  win'  hit  blow. 

Trompin'  back  from  feedin', 
Col'  an'  wet  an'  blue, 

Homespun  jacket  ragged, 
Win'  a-blowin'  thoo. 

Cabin  lookin'  cheerful, 
Unnerneaf  de  do', 

Yet  you  kin'  o'  keerful 

W'en  de  win'  hit  blow. 

Hickory  log  a-blazin' 

Light  a-lookin'  red, 
Faith  o'  eyes  o'  peepin' 

'Rom  a  trun'le  bed, 
Little  feet  a-patterin' 

Cleak  across  de  flo': 


Bettah  had  be  keerful 
W'en  de  win'  hit  blow. 

Suppah  done  an'  ovah, 

Evah  t'ing  is  still; 
Listen  to  de  snowman 

Slippin'  down  de  hill. 
Ashes  on  de  fiah, 

Keep  it  wa'm  but  low. 
What's  de  use  o'  keerin' 

Ef  de  win'  do  blow? 

Smoke  house  full  o'  bacon, 

Brown  an'  sweet  an'  good; 
Taters  in  de  cellah, 

'Possum  roam  de  wood; 
Little  baby  snoozin' 

Des  ez  ef  he  know. 
What 's  de  use  o'  keerin' 

Ef  de  win'  do  blow? 

TWILIGHT 

'TwiXT  a  smile  and  a  tear, 
'Twixt  a  song  and  a  sigh, 

'Twixt  the  day  and  the  dark, 
When  the  night  draweth  nigh. 

Ah,  sunshine  may  fade 
From  the  heavens  above, 

No  twilight  have  we 
To  the  day  of  our  love. 

CURIOSITY 

MAMMY'S  in  de  kitchen,  an'  de 

do'  is  shet; 
All  de  pickaninnies  climb  an'  tug 

an'  sweat, 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Gittin'  to  de  winder,  stickin'  dah  'Twell  dat  steamin'  kitchen  brings 

lak  flies,  us  stealin'  back, 

Evah  one  ermong  us  des  all  nose  Climbin'  an'  a-peepin'  so's  to  see 

an'  eyes.  inside. 

Whut  on  earf  kin  mammy  be  so 

"Whut's     she     cookin',     Isaac?"  sha'ptohide? 

"Whut's  she  cookin',  Jake?"  I'd   des  up  an'  tell  folks  w'en  I 

"  Is  it  sweet  pertaters?     Is  hit  pie  knowed  I  could, 

er  cake?  "  Ef  I  was  a-cookin'  t'ings  dat  smelt 

But   we    couldn't    mek   out   even  so  good. 

whah  we  stood  Mammy  ;n  de  ^  m,  l  xe  ^ 

Whut   was   mammy   cookin     dat  smile' 

could  smell  so  good.  •**•     £  >    i  >  •  »  > 

Moufs   mus    be    a-wat  rm     roun 

hyeah  fuh  a  mile; 

Mammy    spread    de    winder,    anj  Den  we  almos' hollah  ez  we  hu'ies 

she  frown  an'  frown,  down, 

How  de  pickaninnies  come  a-tum-  'Ca'se  hit's'  apple  dumplin's,  big  an' 

Win'  down!  fat  an>  brown! 

Den  she  say:   "  Ef  you-all  keeps  W'en  de  do'  is  opened,  solemn  lak 

a-peepin'  in,  an>  sjow> 

How  Fse  gwine  to  whup  you,  my!  W'isht  you  see  us  settin'  all  dah 


't  'ill  be  a  sin!  in  a  row 


Need  n'  come  a-sniffin'  an'  a-nosin'  Innercent  an'  p'opah,  des  lak  chill- 

?  Veah,  un  should 

'Ca'se  I  knows  my  business,  nevah  \y'en  dey  mammy's  cookin'  t'ings 

fean-"  dat  smell  so  good. 
Won't  somebody  tell  us  —  how  I 

wish  dey  would !  — 

Whut  is  mammy   cookin'   dat  it  OPPORTUNITY 

smells  so  good?  GRANNY'S  gone  a-visitin', 

Seen  huh  git  huh  shawl 

We  know  she  means  business,  an'  W'en  I  was  a-hidin'  down 

we  dassent  stay,  Hime  de  gyahden  wall. 

Dough   it's  mighty   tryin'   fuh   to  Seen  huh  put  her  bonnet  on, 

go  erway;  Seen  huh  tie  de  strings, 

But  we  goes  a-troopin'  down  de  An'  I'se  gone  to  dreamin'  now 

ol'  wood-track  'Bout  dem  cakes  an'  t'ings. 

[242] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


On  de  she'f  behime  de  do' — 

Mussy,  what  a  feas'! 
Soon  ez  she  gits  out  o'  sight, 

I  kin  eat  in  peace. 
I  bin  watchin'  fu'  a  week 

Des  fu'  dis  hyeah  chance. 
Mussy,  w'en  I  gits  in  daih, 

I'll  des  sholy  dance. 

Lemon  pie  an*  gingah-cake, 

Let  me  set  an'  t'ink  — 
Vinegah  an'  sugah,  too, 

Dat'll  mek  a  drink; 
Ef  dey's  one  t'ing  dat  I  loves 

Mos'  pu'ticlahly, 
It  is  eatin'  sweet  t'ings  an' 

A-drinkin'  Sangaree. 

Lawdy,  won'  po'  granny  raih 

W'en  she  see  de  she'f; 
W'en  I  t'ink  erbout  huh  face, 

I's  mos'  'shamed  n^se'f. 
Well,  she  gone,  an  'hyeah  I  is, 

Back  behime  de  do' — 
Look  hyeah!  gran'  's  done  'spected 
me, 

Dain't  no  sweets  no  mo'. 

Evah  sweet  is  hid  erway, 

Job  des  done  up  brown; 
Pusson   t'ink   dat   someun   t'ought 

Dey  was  t'eves  erroun'; 
Dat  des  breaks  my  heart  in  two, 

Oh  how  bad  I  feel! 
Des  to  t'ink  my  own  gramma 

B'lieved  dat  I  'u'd  steal! 


PUTTIN'  THE  BABY 
AWAY 

EIGHT  of  'em  hyeah  all  tol'  an'  yet 
Dese  eyes  o'  mine  is  wringin'  wet; 
My  haht's  a-achin'  ha'd  an'  so', 
De  way  hit  nevah  ached  befo'  ; 
My  soul's  a-pleadin',  "  Lawd,  give 

back 

Dis  little  lonesome  baby  black, 
Dis  one,  dis  las'  po'  he'pless  one 
Whose  little  race  was  too  soon 

run." 

Po'  Little  Jim,  des  fo'  yeahs  oF 
A-layin'  down  so  still  an'  col'. 
Somehow    hit    don'    seem    ha'dly 

faih, 

To  have  my  baby  lyin'  daih 
Wi'dout  a  smile  upon  his  face, 
Wi'dout  a  look  erbout  de  place ; 
He  ust  to  be  so  full  o'  fun 
Hit  don'  seem  right  dat  all's  done, 

done. 

Des  eight  in  all  but  I  don'  caih, 
Dey  wa'nt  a  single  one  to  spaih; 
De  worl'  was  big,  so  was  my  haht, 
An'  dis  hyeah  baby  owned  hit's 

paht; 
De  house  was  po',  dey  clothes  was 

rough, 
But    daih    was    meat    an'    meal 

enough ; 

An'  daih  was  room  fu'  little  Jim; 
Oh !  Lawd,  what  made  you  call  fu' 

him? 


[243] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


It  do  seem  monst'ous  ha'd  to-day,  Heave  ho,  weave  low, 

To  lay  dis  baby  boy  away;  Waves  of  the  briny  deep; 

I'd    learned    to    love    his    teasin'  Seethe  low  and  breathe  low, 

smile,  But  sleep  you,  my  little  one, 

He  mought  o'   des  been   lef   er-  sleep,  sleep. 

while ; 

You  wouldn't  t'ought  wid  all  de      The  little  boat  rocks  in  the  cove  no 

more, 

But  the  flying  sea-gulls  wail; 
I  peer  through  the  darkness  that 

wraps  the  shore, 
For  sight  of  a  home  set  sail. 
Heave  ho,  weave  low, 

Waves  of  the  briny  deep; 
Seethe  low  and  breathe  low, 
But  sleep  you,  my  little  one, 


folks, 
Dat's  roun'  hyeah  mixin'  teahs  an' 

jokes, 

De  Lawd  u'd  had  de  time  to  see 
Dis  chile  an'  tek  him  'way  f'om 

me. 


But  let  it  go,  I  reckon  Jim, 
'LI   des   go   right   straight   up   to 
Him 


sleep,    sleep. 


Dat  took  him  f'om  his  mammy's     Ay>  kj  of  m;ne>  thy  father  may 


nest 

An'  lef  dis  achin*  in  my  breas', 
An'  lookin*  in  dat  fathah's  face 
An'  'memberin*  dis  lone  sorrerin' 

place, 
He'll  say,  "  Good  Lawd,  you  ought 

to  had 
Do  sumpin'  fu'  to  comfo't  dad !  " 


THE  FISHER  CHILD'S  LUL- 
LABY 


die 

In  the  gale  that  rides  the  sea, 
But  we'll  not  believe  it,  not  you 

and  I, 

Who  mind  us  of  Galilee. 
Heave  ho,  weave  low, 

Waves  of  the  briny  deep; 
Seethe  low  and  breathe  low, 
But  sleep  you,  my  little  one, 
sleep,    sleep. 

FAITH 


THE  wind  is  out  in  its  rage  to-  I's  a-gittin'  weary  of  de  way  dat 

night,  people  do, 

And  your  father  is  far  at  sea.  De  folks  dat's  got  dey  'ligion  in 
The  rime  on  the  window  is  hard  dey  flab-place  an'  flue; 

and  white  Dey's  allus  somep'n  comin'  so  de 
But  dear,  you  are  near  to  me.  spit'll  have  to  turn, 

[244] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


An'  hit  tain't  no  p'oposition  fu'  to 

mek  de  hickory  bu'n. 
Ef  de  sweet  pertater  fails  us  an'  de 

go'geous  yallah  yam, 
,We  kin  tek  a  bit  o'  comfo't  f'om 

ouah  sto'  o'  summah  jam. 
Wen   de  snow  hit   git   to   flyin', 

dat's  de  Mastah's  own  desiah, 
De  Lawd'll  run  de  wintah  an'  yo' 

mammy'll  run  de  fiah. 

I  ain'  skeered  because  de  win'  hit 
staht  to  raih  and  blow, 

I  ain't  bothahed  w'en  he  come  er 
rattlin'  at  de  do', 

Let  him  taih  hisse'f  an'  shout,  let 
him  blow  an'  bawl, 

Dat's  de  time  de  branches  shek  an' 

bresh-wood  'mence  to  fall. 
W'en  de  sto'm  er  railin'   an'   de 

shettahs  blowin'  'bout, 
Dat   de   time   de   fiah-place  crack 

hits  welcome  out. 
Tain'    my    livin'    business    fu'    to 

trouble  ner  enquiah, 
De  Lawd'll  min'  de  wintah  an'  my 

mammy'll  min'  de  fiah. 

Ash-cake  allus  gits  ez  brown  w'en 

February's  hyeah 
Ez  it  does  in  bakin'  any  othah  time 

o'  yeah. 
De  bacon  smell  ez  callin'-like,  de 

kittle  rock  an'  sing, 
De  same  way  in  de  wintah  dat  dey 

do  it  in  de  spring; 


Dey  ain't  no  use  in  mopin'  'round 
an'  lookin'  mad  an'  glum 

Erbout  de  wintah  season,  fu'  hit's 
des  plumb  boun'  to  come  ; 

An'  ef  it  comes  to  runnin'  t'ings 

I's  willin'  to  retiah, 
De  Lawd'll  min'   de  wintah   an* 

my  mammy'll  min'  de  fiah. 


THE  FARM  CHILD'S 
LULLABY 

OH,  the  little  bird  is  rocking  in 

the  cradle  of  the  wind, 
And  it's  bye,  my  little  wee  one, 

bye; 
The   harvest  all   is   gathered   and 

the  pippins  all  are  binned; 
Bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye; 
The  little   rabbit's  hiding   in   the 

golden   shock  of   corn, 
The    thrifty    squirrel's    laughing 

bunny's  idleness  to  scorn ; 
You  are  smiling  with  the  angels 

in  your  slumber,  smile  till 

morn; 
So  it's  bye,  my  little  wee  one, 

bye. 

There'll  be  plenty  in  the  cellar, 
there'll  be  plenty  on  the 
shelf; 

Bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye; 
There'll  be  goodly  store  of  sweet- 
ings for  a  dainty  little  elf; 
Bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye. 


[245] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


The  snow  may  be  a-flying  o'er  the 

meadow  and  the  hill, 
The  ice  has  checked  the  chatter  of 

the  little  laughing  rill, 
But  in  your  cosey  cradle  you  are 

warm  and  happy  still; 
So  bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye. 

i 

Why,  the  Bob  White  thinks  the 

snowflake  is  a  brother  to  his 

song; 

Bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye  ; 
And  the  chimney  sings  the  sweeter 

when  the  wind  is  blowing 

strong  ; 

Bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye; 
The  granary's  overflowing,  full  is 

cellar,  crib,  and  bin, 
The  wood  has  paid  its  tribute  and 

the  ax  has  ceased  its  din ; 
The   winter   may   not   harm   you 

when  you're  sheltered  safe 

within ; 
So  bye,  my  little  wee  one,  bye. 


Oh,  many  have  sought  it, 
And  all  would  have  bought  it, 

With  the  blood  we  so  recklessly 

spend; 

But  none  has  uncovered, 
The  gold,  nor  discovered 

The  spot  at  the  rainbow's  end. 

They  have  sought  it  in  battle, 
And  e'en  where  the  rattle 

Of  dice  with  man's  blasphemy 

blends ; 

But  howe'er  persuasive, 
It  still  proves  evasive, 

This  place  where   the   rainbow 
ends. 

I  own  for  my  pleasure, 
I  yearn  not  for  treasure, 

Though    gold    has    a   power   it 

lends ; 

And  I  have  a  notion, 
To  find  without  motion, 

The   place  where   the   rainbow 
ends. 


THE  PLACE  WHERE  THE 
RAINBOW  ENDS 

THERE'S  a  fabulous  story 
Full  of  splendor  and  glory, 
That    Arabian    legends    trans- 
cends ; 

Of  the  wealth  without  measure, 
The  coffers  of  treasure, 

At  the  place  where  the  rainbow 
ends. 


The  pot  may  hold  pottage, 
The  place  be  a  cottage, 

That  a  humble  contentment  de- 
fends, 

Only  joy  fills  its  coffer, 
But  spite  of  the  scoffer, 

There's  the  place  where  the  rain- 
bow ends. 


Where  care  shall  be  quiet, 
And  love  shall  run  riot, 


[246] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And  I  shall  find  wealth  in  my 

friends ; 

Then  truce  to  the  story, 
Of  riches  and  glory; 

There's  the  place  where  the  rain- 
bow ends. 


HOPE 

DE  dog  go  howlin'  long  de  road, 

De  night  come  shiverin'  down; 
My  back  is  tiahed  of  its  load, 

I  cain't  be  fu'  f'om  town. 
No  mattah  ef  de  way  is  long, 
My  haht  is  swellin'  wid  a  song, 

No   mattah    'bout   de    frownin' 
skies, 

I'll  soon  be  home  to  see  my  Lize. 

My  shadder  staggah  on  de  way, 
It's  monstous  coF  to-night; 

But  I  kin  hyeah  my  honey  say 
"W'y  bless  me  if  de  sight 

O'    you    ain't    good    fu'    my    so' 
eyes." 

(Dat  talk's  dis  lak  my  lady  Lize) 
I's  so'y  case  de  way  was  long 
But  Lawd  you  bring  me  love 
an'  song. 

No  mattah  ef  de  way  is  long, 

An'  ef  I  trimbles  so' 
I  knows  de  fiah's  burnin'  strong, 

Behime  my  Lizy's  do'. 
An'  daih  my  res'  an'  joy  shell  be, 
Whaih    my    oF    wife's    awaitin' 
me  — 


Why  what  I  keer  fu'  stingin' 

bias', 
I  see  huh  windah  light  at  las*. 

APPRECIATION 

MY  muvver's  ist  the  nicest  one 
'At  ever  lived   wiz   folks; 

She  lets  you  have  ze  mostes'  fun, 
An'  lair's  at  all  your  jokes. 

I  got  a  oF  maid  auntie,  too, 
The  worst  you  ever  saw; 

Her  eyes  ist  bore  you  through  and 

through, — 
She  ain't  a  bit  like  ma. 

She's  ist  as  slim  as  slim  can  be, 
An*  when  you  want  to  slide 

Down  on  ze  balusters,  w'y  she 
Says   'at  she's  harrified. 

She  ain't  as  nice  as  Uncle  Ben, 
What  says  'at  little  boys 

Won't  never  grow  to  be  big  men 
Unless  they're  fond  of  noise. 

But  muwer's  nicer  zan  'em  all, 
She  calls  you,  "  precious  lamb," 

An'  let's  you  roll  your  ten-pin  ball, 
An'  spreads  your  bread  wiz  jam. 

An'  when  you're  bad,  she  ist  looks 

sad, 

You  fink  she's  goin'  to  cry; 
An'  when  she  don't  you're  awful 

glad, 
An'  den  you're  good,  Oh,  my! 


[247] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


At    night,    she    takes    ze    softest      For  my  dream  came  true  and  the 


hand, 

An'  lays  it  on  your  head, 
An'  says  "  Be  off  to  Sleepy-Land 
By  way  o'  trundle-bed." 

So  when  you  fink  what  muvver 
knows 

An*  aunts  an*  uncle  tan't, 
It  skeers  a  feller;  1st  suppose 

His  muwer  'd  been  a  aunt. 


A  SONG 


maid  I  wed, 
And    now   no   more    I    sigh,    I 

sigh, 
And  now  no  more  I  sigh. 

DAY 

THE  gray  dawn  on  the  mountain 

top 

Is  slow  to  pass  away. 
Still    lays    him    by    in    sluggish 

dreams, 
The  golden  God  of  day. 


ON  a  summer's  day  as  I  sat  by  a  And  then  a  Hght  along  the  hillSj 

stream,  Your  laughter  silvery  gay; 

A  dainty  maid  can*  by,  The  Sun  God  wakes>  a  blueblrd 

And  she  blessed  my  sight  like  a  tr^js 

rosy  dream, 
And  left  me  there  to  sigh,  to 


You  come  and  it  is  day. 


sigh, 

And  left  me  there  to  sigh,  to 
sigh. 


TO  DAN 

STEP  me  now  a  bridal  measure, 


^  •       j  T       .   ,      ,,  Work  give  way  to  love  and  leisure, 

On  another  day  as  I  sat  by  the  TT        \    ,      *     . , 

Hearts  be  free  and  hearts  be  gay  — 

stream,  _.  iV      »    1         i        • 

r~,  .         .,  j          ,  M  Doctor  Dan  doth  wed  to-day. 

This  maiden  paused  a  while, 

Then  I  made  me  bold  as  I  told  Diagnosis,  cease  your  squalling  — 

my  dream,  Check  that  scalpel's  senseless  bawl- 
She  heard   it  with   a  smile,   a  jng> 

smile,  Put  that  ugly  knife  away  — 

She   heard   it  with   a  smile,   a  Doctor  Dan  doth  wed  to-day, 
smile. 

'Tis  no  time  for  things  unsightly, 

Oh,  the  months  have  fled  and  the  Life's  the  day  and  life  goes  lightly ; 

autumn's  red,  Science  lays  aside  her  sway  — 

The  maid  no  more  goes  by;  Love  rules  Dr.  Dan  to-day. 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Gather,  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
For  the  nuptial  feast  now  made 

is, 
Swing  your  garlands,  chant  your 

lay 
For  the  pair  who  wed  to-day. 

Wish  them  happy  days  and  many, 
Troubles  few  and  griefs  not  any, 
Lift  your  brimming  cups  and  say 
God  bless  them  who  wed  to-day. 

Then  a  cup  to  Cupid  daring, 
Who  for  conquest  ever  faring, 
With  his  arrows  dares  assail 
E'en  a  doctor's  coat  of  mail. 

So  with  blithe  and  happy  hymning 
And  with  harmless  goblets  brim- 
ming, 

Dance  a  step  —  musicians  play  — 
Doctor  Dan  doth  wed  to-day. 


WHAT'S  THE  USE 

WHAT'S  the  use  o'  folks  a-frownin' 

When  the  way's  a  little  rough? 

Frowns  lay  out  the  road  fur  smil- 

in' 

You'll  be  wrinkled  soon  enough. 
What's  the  use? 

What's  the  use  o'  folks  a-sighin'  ? 

It's  an  awful  waste  o'  breath, 
An'  a  body  can't  stand  wastin' 

What  he  needs  so  bad  in  death. 
What's  the  use? 


What's  the  use  o'  even  weepin'? 

Might  as  well  go  long  an'  smile. 
Life,  our  longest,  strongest  arrow, 

Only  lasts  a  little  while. 
What's  the  use? 


A  LAZY  DAY 

THE  trees  bend  down  along  the 

stream, 
Where  anchored  swings  my  tiny 

boat. 
The   day   is   one   to   drowse    and 

dream 
And  list  the  thrush's  throttling 

note. 

When  music  from  his  bosom  bleeds 
Among  the  river's  rustling  reeds. 

No  ripple  stirs  the  placid  pool, 
When   my  adventurous  line  is 

cast, 
A  truce  to  sport,  while  clear  and 

cool, 
The  mirrored  clouds  slide  softly 

past. 

The  sky  gives  back  a  blue  divine, 
And  all  the  world's  wide  wealth 

is  mine. 

A  pickerel  leaps,  a  bow  of  light, 
The  minnows  shine  from  side  to 

side. 
The   first  faint  breeze  comes  up 

the  tide  — 

I  pause  with  half  uplifted  oar, 
While  night  drifts  down  to  claim 

the  shore. 


[249] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


ADVICE 

WEN  you  full  o'  worry 

'Bout  yo'  wo'k  an'  sich, 
Wen  you  kind  o'  bothered 

Case  you  can't  get  rich, 
An'  yo'  neighboh  p'ospah 

Past  his  jest  desu'ts, 
An'  de  sneer  of  comerds 

Stuhes  yo'  heaht  an'  hu'ts, 
Des  don'  pet  yo'  worries, 

Lay  'em  on  de  she'f, 
Tek  a  little  trouble 

Brothah,  wid   yo'se'f. 

Ef  a  frien'  comes  mou'nin' 

'Bout  his  awful  case, 
You  know  you  don'  grieve  him 

Wid  a  gloomy  face, 
But  you  wrassle  wid  him, 

Try  to  tek  him  in; 
Dough  hit  cracks  yo'   features, 

Law,  you  smile  lak  sin, 
Ain't  you  good  ez  he  is? 

Don'  you  pine  to  def; 
Tek  a  little  trouble 

Brothah,  wid  yo'se'f. 

Ef  de  chillun  pestahs, 

An'  de  baby's  bad, 
Ef  yo'  wife  gits  narvous, 

An'  you're  gettin'  mad, 
Des  you  grab  yo'  boot-strops, 

Hoi'  yo'  body  down, 
Stop  a-tinkin'  cuss-w'rds, 

Chase  away  de  frown, 
Knock  de  haid  o'  worry, 

Twell  dey  ain'  none  lef; 


Tek  a  little  trouble, 
Brothah,  wid  yo'se'f. 


LIMITATIONS 

EF  you's  only  got  de  powah  fe'  to 

blow  a  little  whistle, 
Keep  ermong  de  people  wid  de 
whistles. 

Ef  you  don't,  you'll  fin'  out  sho'tly 
dat  you's  th'owed  yo'  fines' 
feelin' 

In  a  place  dat's  all  a  bed  o'  this- 
tles. 

'Tain't  no  use  a-goin'  now,  ez 
sho's  you  bo'n, 

A-squeakin'  of  yo'  whistle  'g'inst 
a  gread  big  ho'n. 

Ef  you  ain't  got  but  a  teenchy  bit 

o'  victuals  on  de  table, 
Whut'  de  use  a-claimin'  hit's  a 

feas'? 
Fe'   de   folks    is  mighty   'spicious, 

an'    dey's    ap'    to   come    a- 

peerin', 
Lookin'   fe'   de  scraps  you   lef 

at  leas'. 
Wen   de  meal's  a-hidin'   f'om  de 

meal-bin's  top, 
You  needn't  talk  to  hide  it;  ef  you 

sta'ts,  des  stop. 

Ef  yo'  min'  kin  only  carry  half  a 

pint  o'  common  idees, 
Don'   go   roun'   a-sayin'  hit's  a 
bar'l; 


[250] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 

THE  DISCOVERY 

THESE  are  the  days  of  elfs  and 


'Ca'se  de  people  gwine  to  test  you, 

an'    dey'll    fin'    out    you's 

a-lyin', 
Den  dey'll  twis'  yo'  sayin's  in  a 

snarl. 
Wuss  t'ing  in   de   country   dat   I 

evah  hyahed  — 
A  crow  dot  sat  a-squawkin',  "  I's 

a  mockin'-bird." 

A  GOLDEN  DAY 

I  FOUND  you  and  I  lost  you, 
All  on  a  gleaming  day. 

The  day  was  filled  with  sunshine, 
And  the  land  was  full  of  May. 

A  golden  bird  was  singing 

Its  melody  divine, 
I  found  you  and  I  loved  you, 

And  all  the  world  was  mine. 

I  found  you  and  I  lost  you, 

All  on  a  golden  day, 
But  when  I  dream  of  you,  dear, 

It  is  always  brimming  May. 

THE  UNLUCKY  APPLE 
'TWAS  the  apple  that  in  Eden 


fays: 
Who  says  that  with  the  dreams  of 

myth, 
These  imps  and  elves  disport  them- 

selves ? 

Ah  no,  along  the  paths  of  song 
Do  all  the  tiny  folk  belong. 

Round  all  our  homes, 

Kobolds  and  gnomes  do  daily  cling, 

Then  nightly  fling  their  lanterns 

out. 
And  shout  on  shout,  they  join  the 

rout, 
And    sing,    and    sing,    within    the 

sweet  enchanted  ring. 

Where  gleamed  the  guile  of  moon- 

light's smile, 
Once    paused    I,    listening    for    a 

while, 
And  heard  the  lay,  unknown  by 

day,  — 
The  fairies'  dancing  roundelay. 

Queen  Mab  was  there,  her  shim- 

mering hair 
Each  fairy  prince's  heart's  despair. 


Caused  our  father's  primal  fall;      She  smiled  to  see  their  sparkling 

«  «  •-«-•  *  ° 


And    the    Trojan    War,    remem- 
ber 


glee, 


And  once  I  ween,  she  smiled  at  me. 
Since  when,  you  may  by  night  or 


'Twas  an  apple  caused  it  all. 
So  for  weeks  I've  hesitated, 

You  can  guess  the  reason  why,  day, 

For  I  want  to  tell  my  darling  Dispute  the  sway  of  elf- folk  gay; 

She's  the  apple  of  my  eye.  But,  hear  me,  stay! 

[251] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

I've  learned  the  way  to  find  Queen  THE  AWAKENING 

Mab  and  elf  and  fay. 

I  DID  not  know  that  life  could  be 
Where  e'er  by  streams,  the  moon-  so  sweet, 

light  gleams,  I  did  not  know  the  hours  could 

Or  on  a  meadow  softly  beams,  speed  so  fleet, 

There,   footing  round   on   dew-lit     Till  I  knew  you,  and  life  was  sweet 

ground,  again. 

The  fairy  folk  may  all  be  found.         The   days   grew   brief   with   love 

and  lack  of  pain  — 


MORNING 


I  was  a  slave  a  few  short  days 

ago, 
THE  mist  has  left  the  greening     The  powers  of  Kings  and  Princes 

plain,  now  I  know; 

The    dew-drops    shine    like    fairy      I  would  not  be  again  in  bondage, 
rain,  save 

I   had   your  smile,   the  liberty   I 
crave. 


The  coquette  rose  awakes  again 

Her  lovely  self  adorning. 
The  Wind  is  hiding  in  the  trees, 
A     sighing,     soothing,     laughing 

tease, 
Until    the    rose    says    "  Kiss   me, 

please," 
'Tis  morning,  'tis  morning. 


LOVE'S  DRAFT 


THE  draft  of  love  was  cool  and 

sweet 

You  gave  me  in  the  cup, 
With  staff  in  hand  and  careless-     But,   ah,   love's  fire  is  keen   and 

free,  fleet, 

The  wanderer  fares  right  jauntily, 
For  towns  and  houses  are,  thinks 

he,  Unless  the  tears  I  shed  for  you 

Shall  quench  this  burning  flame, 


And  I  am  burning  up. 


For  scorning,  for  scorning. 
My  soul  is  swift  upon  the  wing, 
And  in  its  deeps  a  song  I  bring; 
Come,  Love,  and  we  together  sing, 

'  'Tis  morning,  'tis  morning." 


It  will  consume  me  through  and 

through, 
And  leave  but  ash — a  name. 


[252] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


A  MUSICAL 

OUTSIDE  the  rain  upon  the  street, 
The  sky  all  grim  of  hue, 

Inside,  the  music-painful  sweet, 
And  yet  I  heard  but  you. 

As  is  a  thrilling  violin, 
So  is  your  voice  to  me, 

And  still  above  the  other  strains, 
It  sang  in  ecstasy. 


TWELL  DE  NIGHT  IS  PAS' 

ALL  de  night  long  twell  de  moon 

goes   down, 

Lovin'  I  set  at  huh  feet, 
Den    fu'    de    long    jou'ney    back 

f'om  de  town, 

Ha'd,    but   de   dreams   mek   it 
sweet. 

All  de  night  long  twell  de  break  of 

de  day, 

Dreamin'  agin  in  my  sleep, 
Mandy  comes  drivin'  my  sorrers 

away, 

Axin'     me,     "Wha'     fu'     you 
weep?" 

All  de  day  long  twell  de  sun  goes 

down, 

Smilin',  I  ben'  to  my  hoe, 
Fu'  dough  de  weddah  git  nasty  an' 

frown, 
One  place  I  know  I  kin  go. 


All  my  life  long  twell  de  night  has 
pas' 

Let  de  wo'k  come  ez  it  will, 
So  dat  I  fin'  you,  my  honey,  at  las', 

Somewhaih  des  ovah  de  hill. 


BLUE 

STANDIN'  at  de  winder, 

Feelin'  kind  o'  glum, 
Listenin'  to  de  raindrops 

Play  de  kettle  drum, 
Lookin'  crost  de  medders 

Swimmin'  lak  a  sea; 
Lawd  'a'  mussy  on  us, 

What's  de  good  o'  me? 

Can't  go  out  a-hoein', 

Wouldn't  ef  I  could; 
Groun'  too  wet  fu'  huntin', 

Fishin'   ain't  no   good. 
Too  much  noise  fo'  sleepin', 

No  one  hyeah  to  chat; 
Des  mus'  stan'  an'  listen 

To  dat  pit-a-pat. 

Hills  is  gittin'  misty, 

Valley's  gittin'  dahk; 
Watch-dog's  'mence  a-howlin', 

Rathah  have  'em  ba'k 
Dan    a-moanin'    solemn 

Somewhaih  out  o'  sight; 
Rain-crow   des   a-chucklin' — 

Dis  is  his  delight. 


Mandy,  bring  my  banjo, 
Bring  de  chillen  in, 


[253] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Come  in  f'om  de  kitchen, 

I  feel  sick  ez  sin. 
Call  in  Uncle  Isaac, 

Call  Aunt  Hannah,  too, 
Tain't  no  use  in  talkin', 

Chile,  I's  sholy  blue. 


DREAMIN'  TOWN 

COME  away  to  dreamin'  town, 

Mandy  Lou,  Mandy  Lou, 
Whaih  de  skies  don'  nevah  frown, 

Mandy  Lou; 
Whaih   he   streets   is   paved   with 

t    gol', 

Whaih  de  days  is  nevah  col', 
An'  no  sheep  strays  f'om  de  foP, 
Mandy   Lou. 

Ain't  you  tiahed  of  every  day, 

Mandy  Lou,  Mandy  Lou, 

Tek  my  han'  an'  come  away, 

Mandy  Lou, 
To    the    place    whaih    dreams    is 

King, 

Whaih  my  heart  hoi's  everything, 
An'  my  soul  can  allus  sing, 
Mandy  Lou. 

Come  away  to  dream  wid  me, 

Mandy  Lou,  Mandy  Lou, 
Whaih  our  hands  an'  hea'ts  are 
free, 

Mandy  Lou; 

Whaih  de  sands  is  shinin'  white, 
Whaih  de  rivahs  glistens  bright, 
Mandy  Lou. 


Come  away  to  dreamland  town, 
Mandy  Lou,  Mandy  Lou, 

Whaih  de  fruit  is  bendin'  down, 
Des  fu'  you. 

Smooth  your  brow  of  lovin'  brown, 

An'  my  love  will  be  its  crown; 

Come  away  to  dreamin'  town, 
Mandy   Lou. 

AT  NIGHT 

WHUT  time  'd  dat  clock  strike? 
Nine?     No  — eight; 

I  didn't  think  hit  was  so  late. 
Aer  chew!  I  must  V  got  a  cough, 

I  raally  b'lieve  I  did  doze  off  — 
Hit's  mighty  soothin'  to  de  tiah, 

A-dozin'  dis  way  by  de  fiah; 

00  oom  —  hit    feels   so    good    to 

stretch 
I  sutny  is  one  weary  wretch! 

Look  hyeah,  dat  boy  done  gone  to 

sleep ! 

He  des  ain't  wo'th  his  boa'd  an' 
keep; 

1  des   don't   b'lieve   he'd   bat   his 

eyes 
If   Gab'el   called   him   fo'm   de 

skies ! 
But    sleepin's   good    dey   ain't   no 

doubt  — 
Dis  pipe  o'  mine  is  done  gone 

out. 

Don't  bu'n  a  minute,  bless  my  soul, 
Des  please  to  han'  me  dat  ah 
coal. 


[254] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


You  'Lias  git  up  now,  my  son, 

Seems  lak  my  nap  is  des  begun; 

You  sutny  mus'  ma'k  down  de  day 

Wen  I  treats  comp'ny  dis  away! 

W'y,   Brother  Jones,   dat   drowse 

come  on, 
An'  laws !     I  dremp  dat  you  was 

gone! 
You    'Lias,    whaih   yo'    mannahs, 

suh, 

To    hyeah    me    call    an'    nevah 
stub ! 

To-morrer  mo'nin'  w'en  I  call 

Dat  boy'll  be  sleepin'  to  beat  all, 

Don't  mek  no  diffunce  how  I  roah, 

He'll  des  lay  up  an'  sno'   and 

sno'. 
Now  boy,  you  done  hyeahed  whut 

I  said, 

You  bettah  tek  yo'se'f  yo  baid, 
Case    ef    you    gits    me    good    an' 

wrong 
I'll  mek  dat  sno'  a  diffunt  song. 

Dis  wood  fiah  is  invitin'  dho', 

Hit  seems  to  wa'm  de  ve'y  flo' — 
An'  nuffin'  ain't  a  whit  ez  sweet, 

Ez  settin*  toastin'  of  yo'  feet. 
Hit  mek  you  drowsy,  too,  but  La! 

Hyeah,   'Lias,   don't  you  hyeah 

yo'  ma? 
Ef  I  gits  sta'ted  f'om  dis  cheah 

I'  lay,  you  scamp,  I'll  mek  you 
heah! 

To-morrer  mo'nin'  I  kin  bawl 
Twell   all   de  neighbohs  hyeah 
me  call; 


An'  you'll  be  snoozin'  des  ez  deep 

Ez  if  de  day  was  made  f u'  sleep ; 

Hit's  funny  when  you  got  a  cough 

Somehow  yo'  voice  seems  too  fu' 

off  — 

Can't  wake  dat  boy  fu'  all  I  say, 
I  reckon  he'll  sleep  daih  twell 
day! 


KIDNAPED 

I  HELD  my  heart  so  far  from  harm, 
I  let  it  wander  far  and  free 

In  mead  and  mart,  without  alarm, 
Assured  it  must  come  back  to 
me. 

And  all  went  well  till  on  a  day, 
Learned    Dr.    Cupid   wandered 
by 

A  search  along  our  sylvan  way 
For  some  peculiar  butterfly. 

A  flash  of  wings,  a  hurried  dive, 
A  flutter  and  a  short-lived  flit; 

This  Scientist,  as  I  am  alive 
Had  seen  my  heart  and  captured 
it. 

Right  tightly  now  'tis  held  among 
The  specimens  that  he  has 

trapped, 
And    sings     (Oh,    love    is    ever 

young), 

'Tis   passing   sweet   to   be   kid- 
naped. 


[255] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


COMPENSATION 

BECAUSE  I  had  loved  so  deeply, 
Because  I  had  loved  so  long, 

God  in  His  great  compassion 
Gave  me  the  gift  of  song. 

Because  I  have  loved  so  vainly, 
And   sung  with   such   faltering 
breath, 

The  Master  in  infinite  mercy 
Offers  the  boon  of  Death. 


WINTER'S  APPROACH 

DE  sun  hit  shine  an'  de  win'  hit 

blow, 

Ol'  Brer  Rabbit  be  a-layin'  low, 
He  know  dat  de  wintah  time 

a-comin', 

De  huntah  man  he  walk  an*  wait, 
He  walk  right  by  Brer  Rabbit's 

gate  — 
He  know  — 

De  dog  he  lick  his  sliverin'  chop, 
An'  he  tongue  'gin'  his  mouf  go 

flop,   flop  — 
He  — 
He  rub  his  nose  fu'  to  clah  his 

scent 

So's  to  tell  w'ich  way  dat  cotton- 
tail went, 
He  — 

De  huntah 's  wife  she  set  an*  spin 


She  look  at  de  skillet  an'  she  smile, 

oh  my! 
An*  oP  Brer  Rabbit  got  to  sholy 

fly. 
Dey  know. 


ANCHORED 

IF   thro'   the  sea  of  night  which 

here  surrounds  me, 
I   could   swim   out   beyond   the 

farthest  star, 
Break  every  barrier  of  circumstance 

that   bounds  me, 
And  greet  the  Sun  of  sweeter 
life  afar, 

Tho'   near   you   there   is   passion, 

grief,  and  sorrow, 
And  out  there  rest  and  joy  and 

peace  and  all, 
I  should  renounce  that  beckoning 

for  to-morrow, 

I  could  not  choose  to  go  beyond 
your  call. 


THE  VETERAN 

UNDERNEATH  the  autumn  sky, 

Haltingly,  the  lines  go  by. 

Ah,  would  steps  were  blithe  and 

gay, 

As  when  first  they  marched  away, 
Smile  on  lip  and  curl  on  brow, — 


A  good  wahm  coat  fu'  to  wrop  him      Only  white-faced  gray-beards  now, 

in  Standing  on  life's  outer  verge, 

She —  E'en  the  marches  sound  a  dirge. 

[256] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Blow,  you  bugles,  play,  you  fife, 
Rattle,  drums,  for  dearest  life. 
Let  the  flags  wave  freely  so, 
As  the  marching  legions  go, 
Shout,  hurrah  and  laugh  and  jest, 
This  is  memory  at  its  best. 
(Did  you  notice  at  your  quip, 
That  old  comrade's  quivering  lip?) 

Ah,  I  see  them  as  they  come, 
Stumbling     with     the     rumbling 

drum ; 

But  a  sight  more  sad  to  me 
E'en  than  these  ranks  could  be 
Was  that  one  with  cane  upraised 
Who    stood    by    and    gazed    and 

gazed, 

Trembling,     solemn,     lips     com- 
pressed, 
Longing  to  be  with  the  rest. 

Did  he  dream  of  old  alarms, 
As  he  stood,  "  presented  arms  "  ? 
Did   he  think  of  field  and  camp 
And  the  unremitting  tramp 
Mile  on  mile  —  the  lonely  guard 
When  he  kept  his  midnight  ward  ? 
Did  he  dream  of  wounds  and  scars 
In  that  bitter  war  of  wars? 

What    of    that?     He    stood    and 

stands 

In  my  memory  —  trembling  hands, 
Whitened  beard  and  cane  and  all 
As  if  waiting  for  the  call 
Once  again :  "  To  arms,  my  sons," 


And  his  ears  hear  far-off  guns, 
Roll  of  cannon  and  the  tread 
Of  the  legions  of  the  Dead ! 


YESTERDAY  AND  TO- 
MORROW 

YESTERDAY  I  held  your  hand, 
Reverently  I  pressed  it, 
And  its  gentle  yieldingness 
From  my  soul  I  blessed  it. 

But  to-day  I  sit  alone, 
Sad  and  sore  repining; 
Must  our  gold  forever  know 
Flames  for  the  refining? 

Yesterday  I  walked  with  you, 
Could  a  day  be  sweeter? 
Life  was  all  a  lyric  song 
Set  to  tricksy  meter. 

Ah,  to-day  is  like  a  dirge, — 
Place  my  arms  around  you, 
Let  me  feel  the  same  dear  joy 
As  when  first  I  found  you. 

Let  me  once  retrace  my  steps, 
From  these  roads  unpleasant, 
Let  my  heart  and  mind  and  soul 
All  ignore  the  present. 

Yesterday  the  iron  seared 
And  to-day  means  sorrow. 
Pause,  my  soul,  arise,  arise, 
Look  where  gleams  the  morrow. 


[257] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


THE  CHANGE 

LOVE   used  to  carry  a  bow,  you 
know, 

But  now  he  carries  a  taper; 
It  is  either  a  length  of  wax  aglow, 

Or  a  twist  of  lighted  paper. 

I  pondered  a  little  about  the  scamp, 
And  then  I  decided  to  follow 

His  wandering  journey  to  field  and 

camp, 
Up  hill,  down  dale  or  hollow. 

I  dogged  the  rollicking,  gay,  young 

blade 

In  every  species  of  weather; 
Till,   leading   me   straight   to   the 

home  of  a  maid 
He  left  us  there  together. 

And  then  I  saw  it,  oh,  sweet  sur- 
prise, 

The  taper  it  set  a-burning 
The  love-light  brimming  my  lady's 

eyes, 

And  my  heart  with  the  fire  of 
yearning. 


THE  CHASE 

THE  wind  told  the  little  leaves  to 

hurry, 

And  chased  them  down  the  way, 
While    the    mother    tree    laughed 

loud  in  glee, 

For   she   thought  her  babes   at 
play. 


The    cruel    wind    and    the    rain 

laughed   loudly, 

We'll  bury  them  deep,  they  said, 
And  the  old  tree  grieves,  and  the 

little  leaves 
Lie  low,  all  chilled  and  dead. 

SUPPOSE 

IF  'twere  fair  to  suppose 

That  your  heart  were  not  taken, 
That  the  dew  from  the  rose 

Petals  still  were  not  shaken, 
I  should  pluck  you, 

Howe'er  you  should   thorn  me 

and  scorn  me, 

And  wear  you  for  life  as  the  green 
of  the  bower. 

If  'twere  fair  to  suppose 
That    that    road    was    for    va- 
grants, 
That  the  wind  and  the  rose, 

Counted  all  in  their  fragrance; 
Oh,  my  dear  one, 

By  love,  I  should  take  you  and 

make  you, 

The   green   of  my  life   from   the 
scintillant  hour. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE 
FIRST  BORN 

COVER  him  over  with  daisies  white 

And  eke  with  the  poppies  red, 
Sit  with  me  here  by  his  couch  to- 
night, 


[258] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


For    the    First-Born,    Love,    is 
dead. 

Poor  little   fellow,   he   seemed  so 

fair 

1     As  he  lay  in  my  jealous  arms ; 
Silent  and  cold  he  is  lying  there 
Stripped  of  his  darling  charms. 

Lusty  and  strong  he  had   grown 

forsooth, 

Sweet  with  an  infinite  grace, 
Proud  in  the  force  of  his  conquer- 
ing youth, 
Laughter  alight  in  his  face. 

Oh,  but  the  blast,  it  was  cruel  and 

keen, 

And  ah,  but  the  chill  it  was  rare  ; 
The    look    of    the    winter-kissed 

flow'r  youVe  seen 
When  meadows  and  fields  were 
bare. 

Can  you  not  wake  from  this  white, 

cold  sleep 

And  speak  to  me  once  again? 
True  that  your  slumber  is  deep, 

so  deep, 
But  deeper  by  far  is  my  pain. 

Cover  him  over  with  daisies  white, 

And  eke  with  the  poppies  red, 
Sit  with  me  here  by  his  couch  to- 
night, 

For   the    First-Born,    Love,    is 
dead. 


BEIN'  BACK  HOME 

HOME  agin,  an'  home  to  stay  — 
Yes,  it's  nice  to  be  away. 
Plenty  things  to  do  an'  see, 
But  the  old  place  seems  to  me 
Jest  about  the  proper  thing. 
Mebbe    'ts     'cause  the     mem'ries 

cling 

Closer  'round  yore  place  o'  birth 
'N  ary  other  spot  on  earth. 

W'y  it's  nice  jest  settin'  here, 
Lookin'  out  an'  seein'  clear, 
'Thout   no   smoke,   ner   dust,   ner 

haze 

In  these  sweet  October  days. 
What's  as  good  as  that  there  lane, 
Kind  o'  browned  from  last  night's 

rain? 

'Pears  like  home  has  got  the  start 
When  the  goal's  a  feller's  heart. 

What's  as  good  as  that  there  jay 
Screechin'  up'ards  towards  the 

gray 

Skies?  An'  tell  me,  what's  as  fine 
As  that  full-leafed  pumpkin  vine? 
Tow'rin'  buildin's  —  yes,  they're 

good; 

But  in  sight  o'  field  and  wood, 
Then  a  feller  understan's 
'Bout   the   house   not   made   with 

han's. 


Let  the  others  rant  an'  roam 
When  they  git  away  from  home; 
Jest  gi'  me  my  old  settee 
[259] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


An'  my  pipe  beneath  a  tree; 
Sight  o'  medders  green  an'  still, 
Now  and  then  a  gentle  hill, 
Apple  orchards,  full  o'  fruit, 
Nigh  a  cider  press  to  boot  — 

That's    the    thing    jest    done    up 

brown ; 

D'want  to  be  too  nigh  to  town ; 
Want  to  have  the  smells  an'  sights, 
An'  the  dreams  o'  long  still  nights, 
With  the  friends  you  used  to  know 
In  the  keerless  long  ago  — 
Same  old  cronies,  same  old  folks, 
Same  old  cider,  same  old  jokes. 

Say,  it's  nice  a-gittin'  back, 
When  yore  pulse  is  growin'  slack, 
An'  yore  breath  begins  to  wheeze 
Like  a  fair-set  valley  breeze; 
Kind  o'  nice  to  set  aroun' 
On  the  old  familiar  groun', 
Knowin'    that   when    Death    does 

come, 
That  he'll  find  you  right  at  home. 


THE  OLD  CABIN 

IN  de  dead  of  night  I  sometimes, 

Git  to  t'inkin'  of  de  pas' 
An'  de  days  w'en  slavery  helt  me 

In   my   mis'ry  —  ha'd    an'   fas'. 
Dough  de  time  was  mighty  tryin', 

In    dese    houahs    somehow    hit 

seem 
Dat  a  brightah  light  come  slippin' 

Thoo  de  kivahs  of  my  dream. 


An'  my  min'  fu'gits  de  whuppins 

Draps  de  feah  o'  block  an'  lash 
An'  flies  straight  to  somep'n'  joy- 
ful 

In  a  secon's  lightnin'  flash. 
Den  hit  seems  I  see  a  vision 

Of  a  dearah  long  ago 
Of  de  childern  tumblin'  roun'  me 

By  my  rough  ol'  cabin  do'. 

Talk  about  yo'  go'geous  mansions 


An' 


an' 


yo'    big    house    great 
gran*, 

Des  bring  up  de  fines'  palace 
Dat  you  know  in  all  de  Ian*. 

But  dey's  somep'n'  dearah  to  me, 
Somep'n'  faihah  to  my  eyes 

In  dat  cabin,  less  you  bring  me 
To  yo'  mansion  in  de  skies. 

T  kin  see  de  light  a-shinin' 

Thoo  de  chinks  atween  de  logs, 
I  kin  hyeah  de  way-off  bayin' 

Of  my  mastah's  huntin'  dogs, 
An'  de  neighin'  of  de  bosses 

Stampin'  on  de  oP  bahn  flo', 
But  above  dese  soun's  de  laughin' 

At  my  deah  ol'  cabin  do'. 

We  would  gethah  daih  at  evenin', 

All  my  frien's  'ud  come  erroun5 

An'  hit  wan't  no  time,  twell,  bless 

you, 
You    could    hyeah    de    banjo's 

soun'. 

You  could  see  de  dahkies  dancin' 
Pigeon  wing  an'  heel  an'  toe  — 


[260] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Joyous  times  I  tell  you  people 
Roun'  dat  same  oF  cabin  do'. 

But  at  times  my  t'oughts  gits  sad- 
dah, 

Ez  I  riccolec'  de  folks, 
An'  dey  frolickin'  an'  talkin' 

Wid  dey  laughin'  an  dey  jokes. 
An'  hit  hu'ts  me  w'en  I  membahs 

Dat  1 11  nevah  see  no  mo' 
Dem  ah  faces  gethered  smilin* 

Roun'  dat  po'  oF  cabin  do'. 

DESPAIR 

LET  me  close  the  eyes  of  my  soul 

That  I  may  not  see 
What  stands  between  thee  and  me. 

Let  me  shut  the  ears  of  my  heart 

That  I  may  not  hear 
A  voice   that   drowns  yours,   my 
dear. 

Let  me  cut  the  cords  of  my  life, 

Of  my  desolate  being, 
Since  cursed  is  my  hearing  and  see- 
ing. 

CIRCUMSTANCES  ALTER 

CASES 

TIM  Murphy's  gon'  walkin'  wid 
Maggie  O'Neill, 

O  chone! 

If  I  was  her  muther,  I  'd  frown 
on  sich  foolin', 
O  chone! 


I'm  sure  it's  unmutherlike,  darin' 

an'  wrong 
To  let  a  gyrul  hear  tell  the  sass  an' 

the  song 
Of  every  young  felly  that  happens 

along, 

O  chone! 

An'    Murphy,    the    things    that's 
be'n  sed  of  his  doin', 

O  chone! 

'.Tis  a  cud  that  no   dacent  folks 
wants  to  be  chewin', 

O  chone! 
If  he  came  to  my  door  wid  his 

cane  on  a  twirl, 
Fur  to  thry  to  make  love  to  you, 

Biddy,  my  girl, 

Ah,   wouldn't   I   send   him   away 
wid  a  whirl, 
O  chone! 

They  say  the  gossoon  is  indecent 
and  dirty, 

O  chone! 
In  spite  of  his  dressin'  so. 

O  chone! 
Let  him  dress  up  ez  foine  ez  a 

king  or  a  queen, 
Let   him   put   on   more   wrinkles 

than  ever  was  seen, 
You'll  be  sure  he's  no  match  for 
my  little  colleen, 
O  chone! 

Faith  the  two  is  comin'  back  an* 
their  walk  is  all  over, 
O  chone! 


[261] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


'Twas  a  pretty  short  walk  fur  to 
take  wid  a  lover, 
O  chone! 

Why,   I   believe   that  Tim   Mur- 
phy's a  kumin'  this  way, 

Ah,  Biddy  jest  look  at  him  steppin' 
so  gay, 

I'd    niver    belave   what    the    gos- 
sipers  say, 

O  chone! 

He's  turned  in  the  gate  an'  he's 
coming  a-caperin', 

O  chone! 

Go,  Biddy,  go  quick  an'  put  on  a 
clane  apern, 

O  chone! 
Be  quick  as  ye  kin  fur  he's  right  at 

the  dure; 
Come  in,  master  Tim,   fur  ye're 

welcome  I'm  shure. 
We  were  talkin'  o'  ye  jest  a  minute 
before. 

O  chone! 


TILL  THE  WIND  GETS 
RIGHT 

OH  the  breeze  is  blowin'  balmy 

An  the  sun  is  in  a  haze; 
There's  a  cloud  jest  givin'  coolness 

To  the  laziest  of  days. 
There  are  crowds  upon  the  lake- 
side, 

But  the  fish  refuse  to  bite, 
So  I'll  wait  and  go  a-fishin' 

When  the  wind  gets  right. 


Now  my  boat  tugs  at  her  anchor, 

Eager  now  to  kiss  the  spray, 
While  the  little  waves  are  callin' 

Drowsy  sailor  come  away, 
There's  a  harbor  for  the  happy, 

And  its  sheen  is  just  in  sight, 
But  I  won't  set  sail  to  get  there, 

Till  the  wind  gets  right. 

That's  my  trouble,  too,  I  reckon, 

I've  been  waitin'  all  too  long, 
Tho'  the  days  were  always 

Still  the  wind  is  always  wrong. 
An'  when  Gabriel  blows  his  trum- 
pet, 

In  the  day  o'  in  the  night, 
I  will  still  be  found  waitin', 

Till  the  wind  gets  right. 

A  SUMMER  NIGHT 

SUMMAH  is  de  lovin'  time  — 

Do'  keer  what  you  say. 
Night  is  allus  peart  an'  prime, 

Bettah  dan  de  day. 
Do  de  day  is  sweet  an'  good, 

Birds  a-singin'  fine, 
Pines  a-smellin'  in  de  wood, — 

But  de  night  is  mine. 

Rivah  whisperin'  "  howdy  do," 

Ez  it  pass  you  by  — 
Moon  a-lookin'  down  at  you, 

Winkin*  on  de  sly. 
Frogs  a-croakin'  f'om  de  pon', 

Singin'  bass  dey  fill, 
An'  you  listen  way  beyon' 

Ol'  man  whippo'will. 


[262] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Hush  up,  honey,  tek  my  han', 

Mek  yo'  footsteps  light; 
Somep'n'  kin'  o'  hoi's  de  Ian* 

On  a  summah  night. 
Somep'n'  dat  you  nevah  sees 

An'  you  nevah  hyeahs, 
But  you  feels  it  in  de  breeze, 

Somep'n'  nigh  to  teahs. 

Somep'n'  nigh  to  teahs?  dat's  so; 

But  hit's  nigh  to  smiles. 
An'  you  feels  it  ez  you  go 

Down  de  shinin'  miles. 
Tek  my  han',  my  little  dove; 

Hush  an'  come  erway  — 
Summah  is  de  time  fu'  love, 

Night-time  beats  de  day! 


AT  SUNSET  TIME 

ADOWN  the  west  a  golden  glow 

Sinks  burning  in  the  sea, 
And  all  the  dreams  of  long  ago 

Come  flooding  back  to  me. 
The  past  has  writ  a  story  strange 

Upon  my  aching  heart, 
But   time   has   wrought   a   subtle 
change, 

My    wounds    have    ceased    to 
smart. 

No    more    the    quick    delight    of 
youth, 

No  more  the  sudden  pain, 
I  look  no  more  for  trust  or  truth 

Where  greed  may  compass  gain. 


What,   was   it   I   who   bared  my 

heart 

Through  unrelenting  years, 
And   knew   the   sting   of   misery's 

dart, 
The  tang  of  sorrow's  tears? 

'Tis  better  now,  I  do  not  weep, 

I  do  not  laugh  nor  care; 
My  soul  and  spirit  half  asleep 

Drift  aimless  everywhere. 
We  float  upon  a  sluggish  stream, 

We  ride  no  rapids  mad, 
While  life  is  all  a  tempered  dream 

And  every  joy  half  sad. 


NIGHT 

SILENCE,  and  whirling  worlds  afar 
Through  all  encircling  skies. 

What  floods  come  o'er  the  spirit's 

bar, 
What  wondrous  thoughts  arise. 

The  earth,  a  mantle  falls  away, 
And,  winged,  we  leave  the  sod; 

Where  shines  in  its  eternal  sway 
The  majesty  of  God. 


AT  LOAFING-HOLT 

SINCE  I  left  the  city's  heat 
For  this  sylvan,  cool  retreat, 
High  upon  the  hill-side  here 
Where  the  air  is  clean  and  clear, 
I  have  lost  the  urban  ways. 


[263] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Mine  are  calm  and  tranquil  days, 
Sloping  lawns  of  green  are  mine, 
Clustered  treasures  of  the  vine; 
Long  forgotten  plants  I  know, 
Where  the  best  wild  berries  grow, 
Where    the    greens    and    grasses 

sprout, 

When  the  elders  blossom  out. 
Now  I  am  grown  weather-wise 
With  the  lore  of  winds  and  skies. 
Mine  the  song  whose  soft  refrain 
Is  the  sigh  of  summer  rain. 
Seek  you  where  the  woods  are  cool, 
Would  you  know  the  shady  pool 
Where,  throughout  the  lazy  day, 
Speckled  beauties  drowse  or  play? 
Would  you  find  in  rest  or  peace 
Sorrow's  permanent  release?  — 
Leave  the  city,  grim  and  gray, 
Come  with  me,  ah,  come  away. 
Do  you  fear  the  winter  chill, 
Deeps  of  snow  upon  the  hill? 
'Tis  a  mantle,  kind  and  warm, 
Shielding  tender  shoots  from  harm. 
Do      you      dread      the      ice-clad 

streams, — 

They  are  mirrors  for  your  dreams. 
Here's    a    rouse,    when    summer's 

past 

To  the  raging  winter's  blast. 
Let  him  roar  and  let  him  rout, 
We  are  armored  for  the  bout. 
How  the  logs  are  glowing,  see! 
Who  sings  louder,  they  or  he? 
Could  the  city  be  more  gay? 
Burn  your  bridges!     Come  away! 


WHEN  A  FELLER'S  ITCHIN' 
TO  BE  SPANKED 

WEN    us    fellers   stomp    around, 

makin'  lots  o'  noise, 
Gramma    says,    "  There's    certain 

times  come  to  little  boys 
W'en  they  need  a  shingle  or  the 

soft  side  of  a  plank ;  " 
She   says   "  we're   a-itchin'    for   a 

right  good  spank." 
An'  she  says,   "  Now  thes  you 

wait, 

It's  a-comin' —  soon  or  late, 
W'en  a  feller's  itchin'  fer  a  spank." 

W'en  a  feller's  out  o'  school,  you 

know  how  he  feels, 
Gramma  says  we  wriggle   'roun' 

like  a  lot  o'  eels. 
W'y   it's   like   a  man   that's   thes 

home  from  out  o'  jail. 
What's  the  use  o'  scoldin'  if  we 

pull  Tray's  tail? 
Gramma  says,  tho',  "  Thes  you 

wait, 

It's  a-comin' —  soon  or  late, 
You'se   the  boys   that's   itchin'   to 

be  spanked." 


Cats  is  funny  creatures  an'  I  like 

to  make  'em  yowl, 
Gramma  alwus  looks  at  me  with 

a  awful  scowl 
An'  she  says,  "  Young  gentlemen, 

mamma  should  be  thanked 
Ef  you'd  get  your  knickerbockers 

right  well  spanked." 

[264] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


An'  she  says,   "  Now  thes  you 

wait, 

It's  a-comin' —  soon  or  late," 
Wen     a    feller's    itchin'     to    be 

spanked. 

Ef   you   fin'    the    days    is    gettin' 

awful  hot  in  school 
An'  you  know  a  swimmin'  place 

where  it's  nice  and  cool, 
Er  you  know  a  cat-fish  hole  brim- 

min'  full  o'  fish, 
Whose  a-goin'  to  set  around  school 

and  wish? 

'Tain't  no  use  to  hide  your  bait, 
It's  a-comin, —  soon  or  late, 
Wen     a     feller's    itchin'     to    be 

spanked. 

Ol'    folks    know    most    ever'thing 

'bout  the  world,  I  guess, 
Gramma  does,  we  wish  she  knowed 

thes  a  little  less, 
But  I  alwus  kind  o'  think  it  'ud  be 

as  well 
Ef  they  wouldn't  alwus  have  to 

up  an'  tell; 
We   kids   wish    'at   they'd   thes 

wait, 

It's  a-comin' —  soon  or  late, 
Wen     a     feller's     itchin'     to    be 
spanked. 


THE  RIVER  OF  RUIN 


By  the  side  of  the  stream, 
As  long  as  the  river  runs. 

It  seems  all  so  pleasant  and 
cheery  — 

No  thought  of  the  morrow  is 
theirs, 

And  their  faces  are  bright 

With  the  sun  of  delight, 

And  they  dream  of  no  night- 
brooding  cares. 

The      women      wear      garlanded 

tresses, 
The    men    have    rings    on    their 

hands, 

And  they  sing  in  their  glee, 
For  they  think  they  are  free  — 
They  that  know  not  the  treacher- 
ous sands. 

Ah,  but  this  be  a  venturesome  jour- 
ney, 

Forever  those  sands  are  ashift, 
And  a  step  to  one  side 
Means  a  grasp  of  the  tide, 
And    the   current   is   fearful    and 
swift. 

For  once  in  the  river  of  ruin, 

What  boots  it,  to  do  or  to  dare, 

For  down  we  must  go 

In  the  turbulent  flow, 

To  the  desolate  sea  of  Despair. 


ALONG  by  the  river  of  ruin 
They  dally  —  the  thoughtless  ones, 
They  dance  and  they  dream 

[265] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


TO  HER 

YOUR  presence  like  a  benison  to 

me 
Wakes  my  sick  soul  to  dreamful 

ecstasy, 
I    fancy   that   some   old    Arabian 

night 
Saw  you  my  hour!  and  my  heart's 

delight. 

And  wandering  forth  beneath  the 

passionate   moon, 
Your  love-strung  zither  and  my 

soul  in  tune, 
We  knew  the  joy,  the  haunting  of 

the  pain 

That     like     a     flame     thrills 
through  me  now  again. 

To-night  we  sit  where  sweet  the 

spice  winds  blow, 
A  wind  the  northland  lacks  and 

ne'er  shall  know, 
With  clasped  hands  and  spirits  all 

aglow 
As  in  Arabia  in  the  long  ago. 


A  LOVE  LETTER 

OH,  I  des  received  a  letter  f'om  de 
sweetest  little  gal; 
Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 

She's  my  lovely  little   sweetheart 
an'  her  name  is  Sal: 
Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 


She  writes  me  dat  she  loves  me  an' 

she  loves  me  true, 
She  wonders  ef  I'll  tell  huh  dat 

I  loves  huh,  too; 

An'  my  heaht's  so  full  o'  music  dat 
I  do'  know  what  to  do  ; 
Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 

I  got  a  man  to  read  it  an'  he  read 
it  fine; 

Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 

Dey  ain'  no  use  denying  dat  her 
love  is  mine; 

Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 
But  hyeah's  de  t'ing  dat's  puttiV 

me  in  such  a  awful  plight, 
I  t'ink  of  huh  at  mornin'  an'  I 

dream  of  huh  at  night ; 
But  how's  I  gwine  to  cou't  huh 
w'en   I    do'   know  how  to 
write  ? 

Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 

My  heaht  is  bubblin'  ovah  wid  de 
t'ings  I  want  to  say; 

Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 

An'    dey's   lots   of   folks   to    copy 
what  I  tell  'em  fu'  de  pay; 

Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 
But  dey's  t'ings  dat  I's  a-t'inkin' 

dat  is  only  fu'  huh  ears, 
An'  I  couldn't  lu'n  to  write  'em  ef 

I  took  a  dozen  years; 
So  to  go  down  daih  an'  tell  huh 
is  de  only  way,  it  'pears; 
Oh,  my;  oh,  my. 


[266] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS 

I'VE  always  been  a  faithful  man 
An'  tried  to  live  for  duty, 

But  the  stringent  mode  of  life 
Has  somewhat  lost  its  beauty. 

The  story  of  the  generous  bread 
He  sent  upon  the  waters, 

Which  after  many  days  returns 
To  trusting  sons  and  daughters, 

Had  oft  impressed  me,  so  I  want 
My  soul  influenced  by  it, 

And  bought  a  loaf  of  bread  and 

sought 
A  stream  where  I  could  try  it. 

I  cast  my  bread  upon  the  waves 
And  fancied  then  to  await  it; 

It  had  not  floated  far  away 

When  a  fish  came  up  and  ate  it. 

And  if  I  want  both  fish  and  bread, 
And  surely  both  I'm  wanting, 

About  the  only  way  I  see 
Is  for  me  to  go  fishing. 


LIZA  MAY 

Little  brown  face  full  of  smiles, 
And  a  baby's  guileless  wiles, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

Eyes  a-peeping  thro'  the  fence 
With  an  interest  intense, 
Liza  May. 


Ah,  the  gate  is  just  ajar, 
And  the  meadow  is  not  far, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

And  the  road  feels  very  sweet, 
To  your  little  toddling  feet, 
Liza  May. 

Ah,  you  roguish  runaway, 
What  will  toiling  mother  say, 
Liza  May,  Liza  May? 

What  care  you  who  smile  to  greet 
Everyone  you  chance  to  meet, 
Liza  May? 

Soft  the  mill-race  sings  its  song, 
Just  a  little  way  along, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

But  the  song  is  full  of  guile, 
Turn,    ah    turn,    your    steps    the 
while, 

Liza  May. 

You  have  caught  the  gleam  and 

glow 

Where  the  darkling  waters  flow, 
Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

Flash  of  ripple,  bend  of  bough, 

Where  are  all  the  angels  now? 

Liza  May. 


Now  a  mother's  eyes  intense 
Gazing  o'er  a  shabby  fence, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

[267] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Then  a  mother's  anguished  face 
Peering  all  around  the  place, 
Liza  May. 

Hear  the  agonizing  call 
For  a  mother's  all  in  all, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

Hear  a  mother's  maddened  prayer 
To  the  calm  unanswering  air, 
Liza  May. 

What's  become  of  —  Liza  May? 
What  has  darkened  all  the  day? 
Liza  May,  Liza  May. 

Ask  the  waters  dark  and  fleet, 
If  they  know  the  smiling,  sweet 
Liza  May. 

Call  her,  call  her  as  you  will, 
On  the  meadow,  on  the  hill, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 


THE  MASTERS 

OH,  who  is  the  Lord  of  the  land  of 

life, 

When  hotly  goes  the  fray? 
When,  fierce  we  smile  in  the  midst 

of  strife 
Then  whom  shall  we  obey? 

Oh,  Love  is  the  Lord  of  the  land 

of  life 

Who  holds  a  monarch's  sway; 
He  wends  with  wish  of  maid  and 

wife, 
And  him  you  must  obey. 

Then  who  is  the  Lord  of  the  land 

of  life, 

At  setting  of  the  sun? 
Whose    word    shall    sway    when 

Peace  is  rife 
And  all  the  fray  is  done? 


Then   Death  is  the  Lord  of  the 

land  of  life, 

hrough  the  brush  or  beaten  track         When  your  ho£  race  ;s  run_ 
Echo  only  gives  you  back,  Meet  then  h;s  scythe  and  prun;ng. 


Liza  May. 

Ah,  but  you  were  loving  —  sweet, 
On  your  little  toddling  feet, 

Liza  May,  Liza  May. 


knife 
When  the  fray  is  lost  or  won. 

TROUBLE  IN  DE  KITCHEN 


But  through  all  the  coming  years, 
Must  a  mother  breathe  with  tears, 
Liza  May. 


DEY  was  oncet  a  awful  quoil 
'twixt  de  skillet  an'  de  pot; 

De  pot  was  des  a-bilin'  an'  de  skil- 
let sho'  was  hot. 

Dey  slurred  each  othah's  colah  an' 
dey  called  each  othah  names, 

[268] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Wile  de  coal-oil  can  des  gu-gled, 
po'in  oil  erpon  de  flames. 

De  pot,  hit  called  de  skillet  des  a 

flat,  disfiggered  t'ing, 
An'  de  skillet  'plied  dat  all  de  pot 

could  do  was  set  an'  sing, 
An'  he  'lowed  dat  dey  was  lusions 

dat  he  wouldn't  stoop  to  mek 
'Case  he  reckernize  his  juty,  an'  he 

had  too  much  at  steak. 

Well,  at  dis  de  pot  biled  ovah,  case 

his  tempah  gittin'  highah, 
An'   de  skillet   got   to   sputterin', 

den  de  fat  was  in  de  fiah. 
Mistah  fiah  lay  daih  smokin'  an' 

a-t'inkin'  to  hisse'f, 
Wile  de  peppah-box  us  nudgin'  of 

de  gingah  on  de  she'f. 

Den  dey  all  des  lef  hit  to   'im, 

'bout  de  trouble  an'  de  talk ; 
An'  howevah  he  decided,  w'y  dey 

bofe  Vd  walk  de  chalk; 
But  de  fiah  uz  so  'sgusted  how  dey 

quoil  an'  dey  shout 
Dat  he  cooled  'em  off,  I  reckon, 

w'en  he  puffed  an'  des  went 

out. 


CHRISTMAS 

STEP  wid  de  banjo  an'  glide  wid 

de  fiddle, 

Dis  ain'  no  time  fu'  to  pottah 
an'  piddle; 


Fu'  Christmas  is  comin',  it's  right 

on  de  way, 

An'  dey's  houahs  to  dance  'fo' 
de  break  o'  de  day. 

What   if   de   win'    is   taihin'    an' 

whistlin'  ? 
Look    at    dat    fiah    how    hit 's 

spittin'  an'  bristlin'! 
Heat  in  de  ashes  an'  heat  in  de 

cindahs, 

OF  mistah  Pros'  kin  des  look 
thoo  de  windahs. 

Heat  up  de  toddy  an'  pas'  de  wa'm 

glasses, 
Don'  stop  to  shivah  at  blowin's 

an'  blas'es, 
Keep  on  de  kittle  an'  keep  it  a- 

hummin', 
Eat  all  an'  drink  all,  dey's  lots 

mo'  a-comin'. 
Look    hyeah,    Maria,    don't    open 

dat  oven, 

Want  all  dese  people  a-pushin' 
an'  shovin'? 

Res'    f'om    de    dance?    Yes,    you 

done  cotch  dat  odah, 
Mammy  done  cotch  it,  an'  law! 

hit  nigh  flo'd  huh; 
'Possum   is   monst'ous   fu'    mekin' 

folks  fin'  it! 
Come,  draw  yo'  cheers  up,  I 's 

sho'  I  do'  min'  it. 
Eat  up  dem  critters,  you  men  folks 

an'  wimmens, 

'Possums  ain'  skace  w'en  dey's 
lots  o'  pu'simmons. 


[269] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

ROSES  AND  PEARLS  In  days  of  yore,  this  were  not  wont, 

No  loneliness  my  soul  could  daunt. 
YOUR  spoken  words  are  roses  fine 

and  sweet,  jror  me  too  serious  for  my  age, 

The  songs  you  sing  are  perfect  The  weighty  tome  of  hoary  sage, 

pearls  of  sound.  Until  with  puzzled  heart  astir, 

How  lavish  nature  is  about  your  One  God-giv'n  night,  I  dreamed 


feet, 


of  her. 


To  scatter  flowers  and  jewels  both 

around.  I  loved  no  woman,  hardly  knew 

More  of  the  sex  that  strong  men 
Blushing  the  stream  of  petal  beauty  woo 

flows,  Than  cloistered  monk  within  his 

Softly    the    white    strings    trickle  cell; 

down  and  shine.  But  now  the  dream  is  lost,  and  hell 

Oh!  speak  to  me,  my  love,  I  crave 

a  rose.  Holds  me  her  captive   tight   and 

Sing  me  a  song,  for  I  would  pearls  fast 

were  mine.  Who  prays  and  struggles  for  the 

past. 
No  living  maid  has  charmed  my 

RAIN-SONGS  eyes' 

But  now,  my  soul  is  wonder-wise. 

THE  rain  streams  down  like  harp- 
strings  from  the  sky;  For  I   have  dreamed  of  her  and 
The      wind,      that     world-old  seen 

harpist  sitteth  by;  Her     red-brown     tresses'     ruddy 
And  ever  as  he  sings  his  low  re-  sheen, 

frain,  Have  known  her  sweetness,  lip  to 
He  plays  upon  the  harp-strings  lip, 

of  the  rain.  The  joy  of  her  companionship. 


A  LOST  DREAM 


When  days  were  bleak  and  winds 

were  rude, 

She  shared  my  smiling  solitude, 
AH,    I   have   changed,    I    do   not     And  all  the  bare  hills  walked  with 

know  me 

Why  lonely  hours  affect  me  so.         To  hearken  winter's  melody. 

[270] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


And  when  the  spring  came  o'er  the 

land 

We  fared  together  hand  in  hand 
Beneath  the  linden's  leafy  screen 
That    waved     above    us     faintly 

green. 

In  summer,  by  the  river-side, 
Our  souls  were  kindred  with  the 

tide 

That  floated  onward  to  the  sea 
As  we  swept  toward  Eternity. 

The   bird's   call   and   the  water's 

drone 

Were  all  for  us  and  us  alone. 
The  water-fall  that  sang  all  night 
Was  her  companion,  my  delight, 

And  e'en  the  squirrel,  as  he  sped 
Along  the  branches  overhead, 
Half  kindly  and  half  envious, 
Would  chatter  at  the  joy  of  us. 

'Twas  but  a  dream,  her  face,  her 

hair, 
The  spring-time  sweet,  the  winter 

bare, 
The  summer  when  the  woods  we 

ranged, — 
'Twas   but   a    dream,    but   all   is 

changed. 


Yes,   all  is  changed  and  all  has 

fled, 
The   dream   is   broken,   shattered, 

dead. 

And  yet,  sometimes,  I  pray  to  know 
How  just  a  dream  could  hold  me 

so. 

A  SONG 

THOU  art  the  soul  of  a  summer's 

day, 

Thou  art  the  breath  of  the  rose. 
But  the  summer  is  fled 
And  the  rose  is  dead 
Where  are  they  gone,  who  knows, 
who  knows? 

Thou  art  the  blood  of  my  heart  oj 

hearts, 
Thou  art  my  soul's  repose, 

But  my  heart  grows  numb 
And  my  soul  is  dumb 
Where  art  thou,  love,  who  knows, 
who  knows? 

Thou   art  the   hope   of  my  after 

years  — 

Sun  for  my  winter  snows 
But  the  years  go  by 
'Neath  a  clouded  sky. 
Where  shall  we  meet,  who  knows, 
who  knows? 


[271] 


MISCELLANEOUS 


THE  CAPTURE 

DUCK  come  switchin'  'cross  de  lot 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
Hurry  up  an'  hide  de  pot 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
Duck's  a  mighty  'spicious  fowl, 
Slick  as  snake  an'  wise  as  owl; 
Hoi'  dat  dog,  don't  let  him  yowl! 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 

Th'ow  dat  co'n  out  kind  o'  slow 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
Keep  yo'se'f  behin'  de  do' 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
Lots  o'  food'll  kill  his  feah, 
Co'n  is  cheap  but  fowls  is  deah  — 
"  Come,    good    ducky,    come    on 
heah." 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 

Ain't  he  fat  and  ain't  he  fine, 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
Des    can't    wait     to     make    him 
mine. 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 
See  him  waddle  when  he  walk, 
'Sh!  keep  still  and  don't  you  talk! 
Got    you!      Don't    you    daih    to 
squawk ! 

Hi,  oh,  Miss  Lady! 


WHEN  WINTER  DARKEN- 
ING ALL  AROUND 

WHEN    winter    covering    all    the 

ground 

Hides  every  sign  of  Spring,  sir. 
However  you  may  look  around, 
Pray  what  will  then  you  sing, 
sir? 

The  Spring  was  here  last  year  I 
know, 

And  many  bards  did  flute,  sir; 
I  shall  not  fear  a  little  snow 

Forbid  me  from  my  lute,  sir. 

If  words   grow   dull   and   rhymes 

grow  rare, 

I'll  sing  of  Spring's  farewell,  sir. 
For  every  season  steals  an  air, 
Which  has  a  Springtime  smell, 
sir. 

But  if  upon  the  other  side, 

With  passionate  longing  burn- 
ing, 

Will  seek  the  half  unjeweled  tide, 
And  sing  of  Spring's  returning. 


FROM     THE     PORCH 
RUNNYMEDE 


AT 


I  STAND  above  the  city's  rush  and 

din, 

And  gaze  far  down  with  calm 
and  undimmed  eyes, 

[275] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Above    the    myriad    roofs    and 
spires  rise; 


To  where  the  misty  smoke  wreath      Such  chances,  such  abilities, 

grey  and  dim  To  see  the  end  was  not  for  my 

poor  eyes, 
Thine  was  the  impulse,  thine  the 

forming  thought. 
Still  is  my  heart  and  vacant  is  my 

breath —  Ah,  I  have  wrought, 

This  lovely  view  is  breath  and          And  these  sad  hands  have  right 

life  to  me,  to  tell  their  story, 

Why  I  could  charm  the  icy  soul      It  was  no  hard  up  striving  after 

of  death  glory, 

With  such  a  sight  as  this  I  stand          Catching    and    losing,    gaining 
and  see.  and  failing, 

Raging   me   back   at   the   world's 
I  hear  no  sound  of  labor's  din  or  raucous  railing. 

stir, 
I    feel   no   weight   of   worldly 


Simply  and  humbly  from  stone 

and  from  wood, 

cares  or  fears,  Wrought  I  the  things  that  to  thee 

Sweet  song  of  birds,  of  wings  the  might  seem  good. 

soothing  whirr, 

These   sounds   alone   assail   my      If  they  are  little,  ah  God !  but  the 
listening  ears.  cost, 

Who  but  thou  knowest  the  all 
Unwhipt    of    conscience    here    I  that  is  lost ! 

stand  alone,  If  they  are  few,  is  the  workman- 

The  breezes  humbly  kiss  my  gar-  ship  true  ? 

ment's  hem;  Try  them  and  weigh  me,  what- 


I  am  a  king  —  the  whole  world  is 

my  throne, 

The    blue    grey   sky   my   royal 
diadem. 


e'er  be  my  due! 


EVENING 


EQUIPMENT 


THE  moon  begins  her  stately  ride 

Across  the  summer  sky; 
WITH   what  thou   gavest  me,   O      The     happy    wavelets     lash     the 

Master,  shore, — 

I  have  wrought.  The  tide  is  rising  high. 

[276] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Beneath    some    friendly   blade   of      When  Winter  comes  with  frigid 


grass 

The  lazy  beetle  cowers; 
The  coffers  of  the  air  are  filled 

With  offerings  from  the  flow- 
ers. 

And  slowly  buzzing  o'er  my  head 
A  swallow  wings  her  flight; 

I  hear  the  weary  plowman  sing 
As  falls  the  restful  night. 


TO  PFRIMMER 
(Lines  on  reading  "  Driftwood.") 

DRIFTWOOD     gathered    here     and 

there 

Along  the  beach  of  time; 
Now  and  then  a  chip  of  truth 
'Mid  boards  and  boughs  of  rhyme ; 
Driftwood  gathered  day  by  day, — 
The  cypress  and  the  oak, — 
Twigs  that  in  some  former  time 
From  sturdy  home  trees  broke. 
Did  this  wood  come  floating  thick 
All  along  down  "  Injin  Crik?" 
Or  did  kind  tides  bring  it  thee 
From  the  past's  receding  sea 
Down  the  stream  of  memory? 


TO  THE  MIAMI 

Kiss  me,  Miami,  thou  most  con- 
stant one! 

I  love  thee  more  for  that  thou 
changest  not. 


blast, 

Or   when   the   blithesome    Spring 

is  past 

And  Summer's  here  with  sun- 
shine hot, 

Or    in    sere    Autumn,    thou    has 
still  the  pow'r 

To  charm  alike,  whate'er  the  hour. 

Kiss  me,  Miami,  with  thy  dewy 

lips; 
Throbs   fast   my  heart   e'en   as 

thine  own  breast  beats. 
My    soul    doth    rise    as    rise    thy 

waves, 
As  each   on   each  the  dark  shore 

laves 

And  breaks  in  ripples  and  re- 
treats. 
There   is  a  poem   in   thine   every 

phase; 
Thou  still  has  sung   through  all 

thy  days. 

Tell  me,  Miami,  how  it  was  with 

thee 
When   years  ago  Tecumseh   in 

his  prime 
His   birch   boat    o'er   thy   waters 

sent, 
And  pitched  upon  thy  banks  his 

tent. 

In  that  long-gone,  poetic  time, 
Did  some  bronze  bard  thy  flowing 

stream  sit  by 
And  sing  thy  praises,  e'en  as  I? 


[277] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Did  some  bronze  lover  'neath  this 

dark  old  tree 
Whisper  of  love  unto  his  Indian 

maid? 
And  didst  thou  list  his  murmurs 

deep, 

And  in  thy  bosom  safely  keep 
The    many    raging    vows    they 

said? 
Or  didst  thou  tell  to  fish  and  frog 

and  bird 
The    raptured    scenes    that    there 

occurred  ? 

But,  O  dear  stream,  what  volumes 

thou  couldst  tell 
To  all  who  know  thy  language 

as  I  do, 

Of  life  and  love  and  jealous  hate! 

But  now  to  tattle  were  too  late, — 

Thou   who   hast   ever   been   so 

true. 
Tell    not    to   every   passing   idler 

here 
All  those  sweet  tales  that  reached 

thine  ear. 


CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

RING  out,  ye  bells! 

All  Nature  swells 
With    gladness   at    the   wondrous 
story,— 

The  world  was  lorn, 

But  Christ  is  born 
To  change  our  sadness  into  glory. 

Sing,  earthlings,  sing! 

To-night  a  King 

Hath    come    from    heaven's    high 
throne  to  bless  us. 

The  outstretched  hand 

O'er  all  the  land 
Is  raised  in  pity  to  caress  us. 

Come  at  his  call; 
Be  joyful  all; 
Away    with    mourning   and   with 

sadness ! 

The  heavenly  choir 
With  holy  fire 

Their  voices  raise  in  songs  of  glad- 
ness. 


But,  silent  stream,  speak  out  and 

tell  me  this: 
I  say  that  men  and  things  are 

still  the  same; 

Were  men  as  bold  to  do  and  dare? 
Were   women    then    as    true    and 

fair? 

Did   poets   seek   celestial   flame, 
The  hero  die  to  gain   a  laureled 

brow, 
And  women  suffer,  then  as  now? 

[278] 


The  darkness  breaks 
And  Dawn  awakes, 
Her  cheeks  suffused  with  youthful 

blushes. 

The  rocks  and  stones 
In  holy  tones 

Are     singing     sweeter     tban     the 
thrushes. 

Then  why  should  we 
In  silence  be, 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


When  Nature  lends  her  voice  to 

praises ; 

When  heaven  and  earth 
Proclaim  the  truth 
Of  Him  for  whom  that  lone  star 
blazes? 

No,  be  not  still, 

But  with  a  will 

Strike  all  your  harps  and  set  them 
ringing ; 

On  hill  and  heath 

Let  every  breath 
Throw  all  its  power  into  singing! 

A  SUMMER  PASTORAL 

IT'S     hot     to-day.     The     bees     is 
buzzin' 

Kinder  don't-keer-like  aroun' 
An'  fur  off  the  warm  air  dances 

O'er  the  parchin'  roofs  in  town. 
In  the  brook  the  cows  is  standin'; 

Childern  hidin'  in  the  hay; 
Can't  keep  none  of  'em  a  workin', 

'Cause   it's  hot  to-day. 

It's     hot     to-day.     The     sun     is 

blazin' 

Like  a  great  big  ball  o'  fire ; 
Seems  as  ef  instead  o'  settin' 
It    keeps    mountin'    higher    an' 

higher. 

I'm  as  triflin'  as  the  children, 
Though  I  blame  them  lots  an' 

scold  ; 

I  keep  slippin'  to  the  spring-house, 
Where  the  milk  is  rich  an'  cold. 


The  very  air  within  its  shadder 

Smells  o'  cool  an'  restful  things, 
An'  a  roguish  little  robin 

Sits  above  the  place  an'  sings. 
I  don't  mean  to  be  a  shirking 

But  I  linger  by  the  way 
Longer,  mebbe,  than  is  needful, 

'Cause  it's  hot  to-day. 

It's  hot  to-day.     The  horses  stum- 
ble 

Half  asleep  across  the  fiel's; 
An'  a  host  o'  teasin'  fancies 

O'er  my  burnin'  senses  steals, — • 
Dreams   o'    cool   rooms,    curtains 
lowered, 

An'  a  sofy's  temptin'  look  ; 
Patter  o'   composin'   raindrops 

Or  the  ripple  of  a  brook. 

I    strike    a   stump!     That   wakes 
me  sudden; 

Dreams  all  vanish  into  air. 
Lordy !  how  I  chew  my  whiskers ; 

'Twouldn't  do  fur  me  to  swear. 
But  I  have  to  be  so  keerful 

'Bout  my  thoughts  an'  what  I 

say; 
Somethin'  might  slip  out  unheeded, 

'Cause  it's  hot  to-day. 

Git  up,  there,  Suke!  you,  Sal,  git 

over! 
Sakes  alive!  how  I  do  sweat. 

Every  stitch  that  I've  got  on  me, 

Bet  a  cent,  is  wringin'  wet. 

If  this  keeps  up,  I'll  lose  my  tem- 
per. 


[279] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Gee  there,  Sal,  you  lazy  brute! 
Wonder  who  on  airth  this  weather 
Could  'a'  be'n  got  up  to  suit? 

You,  Sam,  go  bring  a  tin  o'  water ; 

Dash  it  all,  don't  be  so  slow! 
'Pears  as  ef  you  tuk  an  hour ' 

'Tween   each  step   to   stop   an' 

blow. 
Think  I  want  to  stand  a  meltin' 

Out  here  in  this  b'ilin'  sun, 
While  you  stop  to  think  about  it? 

Lift  them  feet  o'  your'n  an'  run. 

It   ain't   no   use;   I'm   plumb   fe- 
taggled. 

Come  an'  put  this  team  away. 
I  won't  plow  another  furrer; 

It's  too  mortal  hot  to-day. 
I  ain't  weak,  nor  I  ain't  lazy, 

But  I'll  stand  this  half  day's  loss 
'Fore  I  let  the  devil  make  me 

Lose  my  patience  an'  git  cross. 

IN  SUMMER  TIME 

WHEN    summer   time   has   come, 

and  all 

The  world  is  in  the  magic  thrall 
Of  perfumed  airs  that  lull  each 

sense 

To  fits  of  drowsy  indolence; 
When  skies  are  deepest  blue  above, 
And  flow'rs  aflush, —  then  most  I 

love 
To    start,    while    early    dews   are 

damp, 


And  wend  my  way  in  woodland 

tramp 

Where  forests  rustle,  tree  on  tree, 
And  sing  their  silent  songs  to  me; 
Where  pathways  meet  and  path- 
ways part, — 
To   walk   with    Nature   heart   by 

heart, 

Till  wearied  out  at  last  I    lie 
Where  some  sweet  stream   steals 

singing  by 

A  mossy  bank;  where  violets  vie 
In  color  with  the  summer  s£y, — 
Or  take  my  rod  and  line  and  hook, 
And    wander    to    some    darkling 

brook, 
Where  all  day  long  the  willows 

dream, 

And  idly  droop  to  kiss  the  stream, 
And  there  to  loll  from  morn  till 

night  — 

Unheeding  nibble,  run,  or  bite  — 
Just  for  the  joy  of  being  there 
And  drinking  in  the  summer  air, 
The  summer  sounds,  and  summer 

sights, 

That  set  a  restless  mind  to  rights 
When  grief  and  pain  and  raging 

doubt 
Of  men  and  creeds  have  worn  it 

out; 
The  birds'  song  and  the  water's 

drone, 

The  humming  bees'  low  monotone, 
The  murmur  of  the  passing  breeze, 
And  all  the  sounds  akin  to  these, 
That  make  a  man  in  summer  time 


[280] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Feel  only  fit  for  rest  and  rhyme. 
Joy    springs    all    radiant    in    my 

breast ; 
Though   pauper   poor,   than   king 

more  blest, 

The  tide  beats  in  my  soul  so  strong 
That    happiness    breaks    forth    in 

song, 

And  rings  aloud  the  welkin  blue 
With  all  the  songs  I  ever  knew. 
O  time  of  rapture!  time  of  song! 
How  swiftly  glide  thy  days  along 
Adown  the  current  of  the  years, 
Above  the  rocks  of  grief  and  tears ! 
'Tis  wealth  enough  of  joy  for  me 
In  summer  time  to  simply  be. 

A  THANKSGIVING  POEM 

THE    sun    hath    shed    its    kindly 

light, 

Our  harvesting  is  gladly  o'er 
Our    fields    have    felt    no    killing 

blight, 

Our  bins  are  filled  with  goodly 
store. 

From    pestilence,    fire,    flood,    and 

sword 

We  have  been  spared  by  thy  de- 
cree, 
And  now  with  humble  hearts,  O 

Lord, 

We  come  to  pay  our  thanks  to 
thee. 


We  erring  children,  born  of  sin, 
Might    not    now    be    rejoicing 
thus. 

No  deed  of  ours  hath  brought  us 

grace; 
When  thou  were  nigh  our  sight 

was  dull, 
We   hid    in   trembling    from    thy 

face, 

But  thou,  O  God,  wert  merci- 
ful. 

Thy  mighty  hand  o'er  all  the  land 

Hath  still  been  open  to  bestow 

Those  blessings  which  our  wants 

demand 

From  heaven,  whence  all  bless- 
ings flow. 

Thou  hast,  with  ever  watchful  eye, 
Looked  down  on  us  with  holy 

care, 
And   from   thy  storehouse   in   the 

sky 

Hast     scattered     plenty     every- 
where. 

Then   lift   we   up   our   songs   of 

praise 
To  thee,   O   Father,   good   and 

kind; 

To  thee  we  consecrate  our  days; 
Be    thine    the    temple   of    each 
mind. 


We  feel  that  had  our  merits  been      With    incense    sweet    our    thanks 
The  measure  of  thy  gifts  to  us,  ascend; 

[281] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


Before   thy   works   our   powers      Who  could  help  a  carol  trilling 


pall; 
Though    we    should    strive   years 

without   end, 

We  could   not   thank   thee   for 
them  all. 


NUTTING  SONG 

THE  November  sun  invites  me, 
And  although  the  chill  wind  smites 

me, 
I  will  wander  to  the  woodland 

Where  the  laden  trees  await; 
And  with  loud  and  joyful  singing 
I  will  set  the  forest  ringing, 
As  if  I  were  king  of  Autumn, 

And    Dame    Nature    were    my 
mate,  —  • 

While  the  squirrel  in  his  gambols 
Fearless  round  about  me  ambles, 
As  if  he  were  bent  on  showing 

In  my  kingdom  he'd  a  share; 
While  my  warm  blood  leaps  and 

dashes, 

And  my  eye  with  freedom  flashes, 
As  my  soul  drinks  deep  and  deeper 

Of  the  magic  in  the  air. 

There's  a  pleasure  found  in  nut- 

ting, 
All  life's  cares  and  griefs  outshut- 


That  is  fuller  far  and  better 
Than  what  prouder  sports  im- 
part. 


As  he  sees  the  baskets  filling? 
Why,  the  flow  of  song  keeps  run- 
ning 
O'er  the  high  walls  of  the  heart. 

So  when  I  am  home  returning, 
When  the  sun  is  lowly  burning, 
I  will  once  more  wake  the  echoes 

With  a  happy  song  of  praise, — 
For  the  golden  sunlight  blessing, 
And  the  breezes'  soft  caressing, 
And  the  precious  boon  of  living 

In  the  sweet  November  days. 


LOVE'S  PICTURES 

LIKE  the  blush  upon  the  rose 
When  the  wooing  south  wind 
speaks, 

Kissing  soft  its  petals, 
Are  thy  cheeks. 

Tender,  soft,  beseeching,  true, 
Like  the  stars  that  deck  the  skies 

Through  the  ether  sparkling, 
Are  thine  eyes. 

Like  the  song  of  happy  birds, 
When  the  woods  with  spring  re- 
joice, 

In  their  blithe  awak'ning, 
Is  thy  voice. 

Like  soft  threads  of  clustered  silk 
O'er  thy  face  so  pure  and  fair, 

Sweet  in  its  profusion, 
Is  thy  hair. 


[282] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Like  a  fair  but  fragile  vase, 
Triumph  of  the  carver's  art, 

Graceful  formed  and  slender, — 
Thus  thou  art. 

Ah,  thy  cheek,  thine  eyes,  thy 
voice, 

And  thy  hair's  delightful  wave 
Make  me,  I'll  confess  it, 

Thy  poor  slave! 


THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD 

'Tis  an  old  deserted  homestead 

On   the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
Where   the   roof   is  all   moss-cov- 
ered, 
And    the    walls    are    tumbling 

down; 
But  around  that  little  cottage 

Do  my  brightest  mem'ries  cling, 
For  'twas  there  I   spent  the  mo- 
ments 

Of    my    youth, —  life's    happy 
spring. 

I  remember  how  I  used  to 

Swing  upon  the  old  front  gate, 
While  the  robin  in  the  tree  tops 

Sung  a  night  song  to  his  mate; 
And  how  later  in  the  evening, 

As  the  beaux  were  wont  to  do, 
Mr.  Perkins,  in  the  parlor, 

Sat  and  sparked  my  sister  Sue. 


There  my  mother  —  heaven  bless 

her!  — 
Kissed  or  spanked  as  was  our 

need, 

And  by  smile  or  stroke  implanted 

In  our  hearts  fair  virtue's  seed; 

While  my  father,  man  of  wisdom, 

Lawyer  keen,  and  farmer  stout, 

Argued  long  with  neighbor  Dob- 

bins 

How  the  corn  crops  would  turn 
out. 

Then     the     quiltings     and     the 
dances  — 

How  my  feet  were  wont  to  fly, 
While   the  moon   peeped   through 
the  barn  chinks 

From  her  stately  place  on  high. 
Oh,  those  days,  so  sweet,  so  happy, 

Ever  backward  o'er  me  roll  ; 
Still  the  music  of  that  farm  life 

Rings  an  echo  in  my  soul. 

Now  the  old  place  is  deserted, 

And  the  walls  are  falling  down ; 
All  who  made  the  home  life  cheer- 
ful, 
Now   have   died   or  moved    to 

town. 

But  about  that  dear  old  cottage 
Shall  my  mem'ries  ever  cling, 
For  'twas  there  I  spent  the  mo- 
ments 

Of     my    youth, —  life's    happy 
spring. 


[283] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  W.  C. 

THOU  arrant  robber,  Death! 
Couldst  thou  not  find 
Some  lesser  one  than  he 
To  rob  of  breath, — 
Some  poorer  mind 
Thy  prey  to  be? 

His  mind  was  like  the  sky, — 

As  pure  and  free; 
His  heart  was  broad  and  open 

As  the  sea. 
His  soul  shone  purely  through  his 

face, 

And  Love  made  him  her  dwelling 
place. 

Not  less  the  scholar  than  the 
friend, 

Not  less  a  friend  than  man; 
The  manly  life  did  shorter  end 

Because  so  broad  it  ran. 

Weep  not  for  him,  unhappy  Muse ! 

His  merits   found   a   grander  use 

Some  other-where.  God  wisely 
sees 

The  place  that  needs  his  qualities. 

Weep  not  for  him,  for  when  Death 
lowers 

O'er  youth's  ambrosia-scented  bow- 
ers 

He  only  plucks  the  choicest  flow- 
ers. 


AN  OLD  MEMORY 

How  sweet  the  music  sounded 

That  summer  long  ago, 
When  you  were  by  my  side,  love, 

To  list  its  gentle  flow. 

I  saw  your  eyes  a-shining, 
I  felt  your  rippling  hair, 

I  kissed  your  pearly  cheek,  love, 
And  had  no  thought  of  care. 

And  gay  or  sad  the  music, 
With  subtle  charm  replete; 

I  found  in  after  years,  love 

'Twas  you  that  made  it  sweet. 

For  standing  where  we  heard  it, 
I  hear  again  the  strain; 

It  wakes  my  heart,  but  thrills  it 
With  sad,  mysterious  pain. 

It  pulses  not  so  joyous 

As  when  you  stood  with  me, 
And  hand  in  hand  we  listened 

To  that  low  melody. 

Oh,   could    the   years   turn   back, 
love! 

Oh,  could  events  be  changed 
To  what  they  were  that  time,  love, 

Before  we  were  estranged; 

Wert  thou  once  more  a  maiden 
Whose  smile  was  gold  to  me; 

Were  I  once  more  the  lover 

Whose  word  was  life  to  thee, — 


[284] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


0  God!  could  all  be  altered, 
The  pain,  the  grief,  the  strife, 

And  wert  thou  —  as  thou  shouldst 

be  — 
My  true  and  loyal  wife! 

But  all  my  tears  are  idle, 
And  all  my  wishes  vain. 

What  once  you  were  to  me,  love, 
You  may  not  be  again. 

For  I,  alas!  like  others, 

Have  missed  my  dearest  aim. 

1  asked  for  love.     Oh,  mockery! 
Fate  comes  to  me  with  fame! 


A  CAREER 

"  BREAK  me  my  bounds,  and  let 

me  fly 

To  regions  vast  of  boundless  sky; 
Nor  I,  like  piteous  Daphne,  be 
Root-bound.     Ah,    no!     I    would 

be  free 

As  yon  same  bird  that  in  its  flight 
Outstrips    the    range    of    mortal 

sight  ; 
Free  as  the  mountain  streams  that 

gush 

From  bubbling  springs,  and  down- 
ward rush 
Across     the     serrate     mountain's 

side, — 
The     rocks     o'erwhelmed,     their 

banks  defied, — 

And  like  the  passions  in  the  soul, 
Swell   into   torrents  as  they  roll. 

O 


Oh,  circumscribe  me  not  by  rules 
That  serve  to  lead  the  minds  of 

fools! 
But  give  me  pow'r  to  work  my 

will, 
And  at  my  deeds  the  world  shall 

thrill. 
My  words  shall  rouse  the  slumb'r- 

ing  zest 
That    hardly    stirs   in    manhood's 

breast ; 

And  as  the  sun  feeds  lesser  lights, 
As  planets  have  their  satellites, 
So  round  about  me  will  I  bind 
The    men    who    prize    a    master 

mind!" 

He  lived  a  silent  life  alone, 

And  laid  him  down  when  it  was 
done; 

And  at  his  head  was  placed  a 
stone 

On  which  was  carved  a  name  un- 
known ! 


ON  THE  RIVER 

THE  sun  is  low, 

The  waters  flow, 

My  boat  is  dancing  to  and  fro. 

The  eve  is  still, 

Yet  from  the  hill 

The  killdeer  echoes  loud  and  shrill. 

The  paddles  plash, 
The  wavelets  dash, 
We  see  the  summer  lightning  flash ; 

85] 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 


While  now  and  then, 

In  marsh  and  fen 

Too  muddy  for  the  feet  of  men> 

Where  neither  bird 

Nor  beast  has  stirred, 

The    spotted    bullfrog's    croak    is 

heard. 

The  wind  is  high, 
The  grasses  sigh, 
The  sluggish  stream  goes  sobbing 

by. 

And  far  away 

The  dying  day 

Has  cast  its  last  effulgent  ray; 

While  on  the  land 

The  shadows  stand 

Proclaiming  that  the  eve's  at  hand. 


POOR  WITHERED  ROSE 
A  Song 

POOR  withered  rose,  she  gave  it  me, 
Half  in  revenge  and  half  in  glee; 
Its  petals  not  so  pink  by  half 
As   are   her  lips  when  curled  to 

laugh, 
As  are  her  cheeks  when  dimples 

gay 
In  merry  mischief  o'er  them  play. 

Chorus 

Forgive,  forgive,  it  seems  un- 
kind 

To    cast    thy    petals    to    the 
wind ; 

[2 


But  it  is  right,  and  lest  I  err 
So  scatter  I  all  thought  of  her. 

Poor   withered    rose,    so   like   my 

heart, 

That  wilts  at  sorrow's  cruel  dart. 
Who   hath   not    felt   the   winter's 

blight 
When   every   hope   seemed   warm 

and  bright? 
Who   doth   not  know  love   unre- 

turned, 
E'en  when  the  heart  most  wildly 

burned  ? 

Poor    withered    rose,    thou    liest 

dead; 
Too  soon  thy  beauty's  bloom  hath 

fled. 

'Tis  not  without  a  tearful  ruth 
I  watch  decay  thy  blushing  routh; 
And  though  thy  life  goes  out  in 

dole, 
Thy  perfume  lingers  in  my  soul. 


WORN  OUT 

You  bid  me  hold  my  peace 
And  dry  my  fruitless  tears, 

Forgetting  that  I  bear 
A  pain  beyond  my  years. 

You  say  that  I  should  smile 
And  drive  the  gloom  away; 

I  would,  but  sun  and  smiles 

Have  left  my  life's  dark  day. 
86] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


All  time  seems  cold  and  void, 
And  naught  but  tears  remain; 

Life's  music  beats  for  me 
A  melancholy  strain. 

I  used  at  first  to  hope, 

But  hope  is  past  and  gone; 

And  now  without  a  ray 
My  cheerless  life  drags  on. 

Like  to  an  ash-stained  hearth 
When  all  its  fires  are  spent ; 

Like  to  an  autumn  wood 

By  storm  winds  rudely  shent, — 

So  sadly  goes  my  heart, 

Unclothed  of  hope  and  peace; 

It  asks  not  joy  again, 
But  only  seeks  release. 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 

(From  a  Westerner's  Point  of 
View.) 

No  matter  what  you  call  it, 

Whether  genius,  or  art, 
He   sings   the   simple   songs   that 
come 

The  closest  to  your  heart. 
Fur  trim  an'  skillful  phrases, 

I  do  not  keer  a  jot ; 
'Tain't  the  words  alone,  but  feel- 
in's, 

That  tech  the  tender  spot. 
An'  that's  jest  why  I  love  him, — 

Why,     he's     got     sech     human 

feelin', 
An'  in  ev'ry  song  he  gives  us, 

You  kin  see  it  creepin',  stealin', 

[2 


Through    the    core    the    tears    go 

tricklin', 
But    the    edge    is    bright    an' 

smiley; 
I  never  saw  a  poet 

Like  that  poet  Whitcornb  Riley. 

His  heart  keeps  beatin'  time  with 
our'n 

In  measures  fast  or  slow; 
He  tells  us  jest  the  same  ol'  things 

Our  souls  have  learned  to  know. 
He  paints  our  joys  an'  sorrers 

In  a  way  so  stric'ly  true, 
That  a  body  can't  help  knowin' 

That  he  has  felt  them  too. 
If  there's  a  lesson  to  be  taught, 

He  never  fears  to  teach  it, 
An'  he  puts  the  food  so  good  an' 
low 

That  the  humblest  one  kin  reach 

it. 

Now    in    our    time,    when    poets 
rhyme 

For  money,  fun,  or  fashion, 
'Tis  good  to  hear  one  voice  so  clear 

That  thrills  with  honest  passion. 
So  let  the  others  build  their  songs, 

An'  strive  to  polish  highly, — 
There's  none  of  them  kin  tech  the 
heart 

Like  our  own  Whitcornb  Riley. 

A  MADRIGAL 

DREAM  days  of  fond  delight  and 

hours 
As  rosy-hued  as  dawn,  are  mine. 


THE  COMPLETE  POEMS  OF 

Love's  drowsy  wine,  A  STARRY  NIGHT 
Brewed  from  the  heart  of  Passion 

flowers,  A  CLOUD  fell  down  from  the  heav- 

Flows  softly  o'er  my  lips  ens> 

And  save  thee,  all  the  world  is  ^nd   broke   on    the   mountain's 

in  eclipse.  brow; 

It  scattered  the  dusky  fragments 

There  were  no  light  if  thou  wert  AH  over  the  vale  below- 

not;  ^ 

The  sun  would  be  too  sad  to  ™°n  ™d  the  Stars  were  anx~ 

shine,  '°us 

And  all  the  line  c  T°  know  what  lts  fate  mi*Sht  be  ; 

Of  hours  from  dawn  would  be  a  S°  ^  rUshed  t0  the  azure  ^ 

11   .  ing, 

blot;  A          ~" 

And    Night   would    haunt    the  .     And  *"  Peered  d°Wn  to  see' 

skies, 
An   unlaid   ghost   with   staring 

dark-ringed  eyes.  •"•  LYRIC 


Oh,  love,  if  thou  wert  not  my  love,  ^  ^  10V!  HvCS  ^  away> 

And  I  perchance  not  thine-  **  ?  my  heart7!S  Sad  ^  da^> 
what  then?  ah  my  tears  fal1  fast  b^  nieht» 

Could  gift  of  men  What  ma^  J  do  m  such  a  plight. 
Or  favor  of  the  God  above, 

Plant  aught  in  this  bare  heart  Why>  miles  grow  few  when  love  is 

Or  teach  this  tongue  the  sing-  fleet' 

er's  soulful  art?  And  love'  y°u  know'  natn  %ing 

feet; 

Ah,  no!     'Tis  love,  and  love  alone      Break  .off  thv  slShs   and   witness 
That  spurs  my  soul  so  surely  on ;  this> 

Turns  night  to  dawn,  How  Poor  a  thfnS  mere  distance  is. 

And  thorns  to  roses  fairest  blown; 

And  winter  drear  to  spring—       ^y  love  knows  not  l  Iove  her  so, 
Oh,  were  it  not  for  love  I  could      And  would  she  scorn  me'  dfd  she 
not  sing!  know? 

How  may  the  tale  I  would  impart 
Attract   her    ear   and   storm   her 
heart  ? 

[288] 


PAUL  LAURENCE  DUNBAR 


Calm    thou    the    tempest    in    my 

breast, 
Who    loves   in   silence   loves   the 

best, 

But  bide  thy  time,  she  will  awake, 
No  night  so  dark  but  morn  will 

break. 

But  though  my  heart  so  strongly 

yearn, 

My  lady  loves  me  not  in  turn, 
How  may  I  win  the  blest  reply 
That  my  void  heart  shall  satisfy. 

Love  breedeth  love,  be  thou  but 

true, 
And  soon  thy  love  shall  love  thee, 

too; 
If  Fate  hath  meant  you  heart  for 

heart, 
There's    naught    may    keep    you 

twain  apart. 


HOW  SHALL  I  WOO  THEE 

How  shall  I  woo  thee  to  win  thee, 

mine  own? 
Say  in  what  tongue  shall  I  tell 

of  my  love. 
I  who  was  fearless  so  timid  have 

grown. 


All  that  was  eagle  has  turned 

into  dove. 
The  path  from  the  meadow  that 

leads  to  the  bars 
Is  more  to  me  now  than  the  path 

of  the  stars. 

How  shall  I  woo  thee  to  win  thee, 

mine  own, 
Thou  who  art  fair  and  as  far  as 

the  moon? 
Had  I  the  strength  of  the  torrent's 

wild  tone, 
Had  I  the  sweetness  of  warblers 

in  June; 
The   strength   and   the   sweetness 

might  charm  and  persuade, 
But  neither  have  I  my  petition  to 

aid. 

How  shall  I  woo  thee  to  win  thee, 

mine  own? 

How  shall   I   traverse   the   dis- 
tance between 

My  humble  cot  and  your  glorious 

throne  ? 

How  shall  a  clown  gain  the  ear 
of  a  queen? 

Oh  teach  me  the  tongue  that  shall 
please  thee  the  best, 

For  till  I  have  won  thee  my  heart 
may  not  rest. 


[289] 


PS 

At 


